


Finding Home

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-09
Updated: 2003-12-09
Packaged: 2018-10-07 02:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 59,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10350711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: WARNINGS: Our favorite Colonel Potty Mouth, violence, rapeSPOILERS: Minor ones for "The Other Side", "Into the Fire", "Torment ofTantalus", "Emancipation"SEASON: 7SUMMARY: When the team is sent on a not-so-routine mission, ColonelO’Neill isn’t the only one who pays the price.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

Stargate SG-1 FanFiction - Finding Home

##  Finding Home

##### Written by Charli Booker  
Comments? Write to us at [charli.booker@netzero.com](mailto:charli.booker@netzero.com)

  * WARNINGS: Our favorite Colonel Potty Mouth; violence; rape 
  * SPOILERS: Minor ones for Into the Fire; Emancipation; The Other Side; Torment of Tantalus
  * SEASON: 7
  * SUMMARY: When the team is sent on a not-so-routine mission, Colonel O’Neill isn’t the only one who pays the price. 
  * R [D] [HC] [R] 



* * *

‘She’s not even your type.’

‘My _type_? What does that mean – my type?’

‘You know what it means. You’re more into the blue-eyed, blonde thing.’

‘Oh, the blue-eyed, blonde thing. That clears it up nicely.’

‘You know. Sara, Cart–,’

‘Okay, okay.’

‘I’m just saying – green-eyed brunette? Not your type.’

‘Well, thank you. Thank you for that wonderful insight.’

‘And another thing. . .’

‘Oh, yeah, that’s what I need – another thing. But, please, go ahead.’

‘She’s a _scientist_.’

‘She’s a veterinarian, for God’s sake.’

‘Same thing.’

‘You’re pathetic. You know that, right?’

‘Yeah. And I used to be so – cool.’

Col. Jack O’Neill cursed as he slid out from behind the steering wheel and slammed the door to his pick-up. He was tired of arguing about it. It was just – weird. Totally weird. It was one thing to talk to yourself, but to argue! That couldn’t be healthy, could it? Slipping the large envelope under his arm, he crossed the parking lot with a vengeance and stopped with one hand on the doorknob.

‘Okay, Jack,’ he took a deep breath, ‘just remember, you are not pathetic. You are not pathetic.’ He glanced up and, seeing his reflection in the door to the small animal hospital, he grimaced at, and thus back at, himself. "You’re pathetic, O’Neill."

He flung the door open harder than he’d intended, causing the receptionist behind the front counter to literally drop what she was doing and turn to look at him. Maybe it was the dress blues, or maybe it was because he looked pissed, but in any event, he saw one of her neatly manicured hands inch toward the telephone as she eyed him nervously.

"Can – can I help you, officer?"

"Yeah," Jack moved the envelope to the other arm, "I’m here to see Dr. Grace Elliot."

"Oh. Is – uh – Dr. Elliot expecting you?"

"Just tell her–,"

"Sandy," a green-eyed brunette came around the corner, her serious face buried in a thick, neat file, "would you mind – oh – hello."

Jack gave her a tight, nervous smile, and waved. "Hey."

"Colonel–,"

"O’Neill," he supplied. "Jack O’Neill."

"Right. Just call me ‘Jack’." She smiled, and turned to the girl behind the counter. "Sandy, _Juan_ ," Grace rolled her eyes over to Jack as she stressed the name, "needs his nails trimmed. Could you take care of that, please. And then, same billing as last time. Thanks." She handed over the file to Sandy, and motioned for Jack to follow her down the hall, talking to him over her shoulder. "So, Colonel, what’s this? You’ve shown me yours, now I show you mine?" Even though her words sounded slightly barbed, she was smiling as she led him into her private office and closed the door behind them.

"Uh," Jack thought of a dozen smart-assed replies, but discarded them all, "no. I just–," he held out the envelope to her. "This is your copy. You left it."

She appeared a little stunned as she took it from him and tossed it in a desk drawer without looking at it. "Sorry. I thought–," she rubbed her hands over her eyes, then looked up at him sheepishly. "I can be a smart-ass sometimes."

Jack chuckled. "Yeah? Must be a bitch." Then, realizing how that sounded, he added, "To be a smart-ass, I mean. Not you. A bitch. Well, you know what I mean. I hope." Jack felt his heart hammering inside his chest. ‘God help me, I’m stammering like a teenager.’

"Yeah," she laughed, "I think I do. So, Col. O’Neill," she sat down and indicated he should do the same, "are you in charge of all of Gen. Hammond’s deliveries, or can we thank the cutbacks under the current administration?"

"No." Jack studied the Jack Russell who was curled up in the only other seat in the office. When he tried to squeeze in beside the animal, the little terrier looked up at him, blinked, and swear to God, smirked, but otherwise didn’t move. Jack started to push him out of the chair, but decided against it, and stood back up.

"Randy, get down!" Randy shot off the chair, bounded over to a small pile of towels in the corner of the office, and curled up into a small ball.

"Randy and Juan?" Jack swiped dog hair from the chair before sitting. "Whatever happened to Rover and Fido?"

"Actually, Randy is more of a – description."

Jack looked over at the small dog. "Good for you, boy."

"He’s a she. As for Juan, Mrs. Moore is 87 and she thought naming her Chihuahua ‘Juan’ was, how did she put it, ‘precious and just so fitting.’" Her smile melting, Grace picked up a pencil and began absently doodling while watching Jack. "So, was there some reason you came by, Colonel?"

"Jack."

"Okay, Jack. Was there some reason you didn’t have one of your flyboys drop off my – copy?"

"Uh, actually," Jack noticed a stray dog hair on the crease of his dress slacks, and picked it off. When he tried to flick it away, it stuck to his finger, so he ended up delicately holding it between his finger and thumb like a very tiny wine glass. "Well, yeah. I was–," he managed to lay the hair neatly on the arm of the chair, "I was just wondering if perhaps, and if you’re not interested that’s okay, but I was thinking maybe you’d, you know," he shrugged, "like to maybe go out for a drink or something. Sometime. Maybe." Forcing his eyes away from the dog hair still balanced on the chair arm, Jack looked up at her. There, he’d done it. It was over. He had totally humiliated himself. Now, he could stand up, stiffen his spine, and walk out of the room to never look back.

Grace stared back at him. Silently. Not speaking. ‘Okay, Jack, this is weird.’ He felt a bead of sweat beginning to form at his hairline. ‘I know. She’s trying to figure out how to word it. Well, Dr. Elliot – Grace – just get it over with quick. Rip it off, like a band-aid. Uh, Colonel, you’re old enough to be my father, and twice as dumb.’ See, now, that would work.

"Sure."

"Wh–what?"

"I’d like that."

"You would?"

* * * * *

"Okay, now, I didn’t say that."

"Yes. You did, Jack."

"I did?" Grace sipped her drink and nodded in response. "Jeez. Why’d you ever agree to go out with me?"

She shrugged. "You were – cute."

"Cute? You went out with me because I was," Jack looked around at the other occupants of the small bar, then leaned closer to her, lowering his voice, "cute? You’re kidding, right?"

Grace laughed and leaned even closer, kissing him very lightly, very briefly, on the lips. "Extremely cute."

Jack mouthed ‘extremely cute’ back at her, looking annoyed, but she didn’t miss the laughter dancing in his dark eyes. "God help me if the Marines ever find out about this."

"Maybe I should drop by your office. You know, have another look around. Talk to a few of your co-workers."

Jack studied her eyes and thought he detected something behind the humor. "You really do hate that place, don’t you?"

She pulled slightly away from him; a move that was almost undetectable. "I never said I hated it."

"So, what then? You certainly don’t like it."

"I just," Grace played with her glass, swirling the remaining ice cubes and club soda in a move that defied gravity, "I think it’s – I don’t know. It gives me the creeps, that’s all." Jack must have made some noise at that, because her eyes shot up to look at him. "What?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. It’s just – it kind of gives _me_ the creeps and I work there."

They sat without talking for a few minutes. Grace studied the tiny cyclone she had created in her glass and Jack watched the odd mix of patrons who were beginning to fill up the place.

"So, do you ever wish it had remained buried?"

He was watching a man chugging beers over at the end of the bar. The guy was wearing a tight-fitting, short-sleeved t-shirt, and was built like a linebacker. Jack would bet money that when the man stood up, he’d be able to see the outline of a six pack. He also couldn’t help noticing that the guy was probably just the right age for Grace. "Yeah," he turned back to her, "and barring that, I sometimes wish that Catherine had just tucked it away in some forgotten corner of her attic. Or that Daniel had never been called on to decipher it. And barring all that, that Daniel would never have figured it out. But–," he looked back at the man at the bar, leaving the thought hanging for her to take up or not.

"But?"

Jack reached over and put his hand on top of her glass, stopping her nervous movements and allowing the ice and liquid to settle. "As much as I try to pretend it isn’t so, I learned a long time ago that just because you want to believe something, it doesn’t change reality."

"Meaning?"

"There are," Jack stopped out of habit; despite their seeing each other for almost three months, and despite the fact that Grace knew about the Stargate – had even signed the standard, not-worth-the-paper-it-was-written-on non-disclosure agreement – it still felt odd to be able to discuss this subject with someone outside the SGC. "There are things out there that pose a – a serious threat to us. If Catherine and Daniel hadn’t succeeded, those things would still be out there. Grace, we have an opportunity here, and an obligation, that we can’t ignore. We have to try to do what we can."

She kept her eyes on the hand which still covered her drink, then she uncurled one finger from around the cool glass and reached up to trace the edge of his palm. Jack had strong hands, calloused yet almost elegant looking. Piano hands, her great-aunt called them, because of the long fingers. Grace loved Jack’s hands. Finally, she looked back up at him.

"So, Colonel, are you just going to sit there, or are you going to dance with me?"

"I thought you’d never ask."

Jack led her out onto the small, crowded dance floor, and pulled her close. Grace sighed as she settled into his embrace. The music was a nice slow song by somebody that Jack remembered from his days with Sara. He couldn’t think of the singer’s name, but he could still picture the man. Ugly guy, blonde, not too tall.

"Penny for them," Grace offered quietly.

"Okay, but just remember," Jack pulled her tighter, pressing his lips against her forehead, "you get what you pay for." He felt her soft chuckle in the form of a breath of warm air at the base of his neck. "I was thinking about ugly, blonde guys. Well, one – one ugly, blonde guy." Grace leaned back and stared up at him. "Scout’s honor."

"You were never a Boy Scout, Jack O’Neill. They would never have allowed it." But she smiled and her arms tightened around him once more.

The two settled into a soothing rhythm of movement – a gentle swaying that was both hypnotic and seductive. Jack was hyper-aware of the lean legs brushing against his own, the slim waist, the breasts pressed firmly against his chest. He rested his cheek against her hair.

Grace always smelled vaguely of lilacs. At first he’d thought it was some perfume or lotion, but one morning he’d showered at her place before going straight to work. He’d been in a hurry and hadn’t really noticed anything particularly unusual until Carter had walked by him at the briefing table. She’d stopped and looked at him, a cocky little smirk pulling up the corners of her mouth.

‘What?’

‘Sir, did you switch shampoos?’

‘What the hell are you talking about, Carter?’

‘Your hair, sir. It smells like – well, like flowers.’

Holy crap! ‘You’re crazy, Major. You probably smell Daniel’s cheap aftershave.’

As soon as the briefing had ended, Jack had run to the locker room, and had rinsed his head in the sink using hand soap and paper towels. Then, just to be safe, he’d avoided Carter for the rest of the day.

"Jack?" He grunted in response to Grace’s soft voice, tugging him out of what was now just one more absurd moment from his past. "You’re smelling my hair again, aren’t you?"

"I can’t help it." He moved his head so he could whisper in her ear. "You smell pretty. Like a girl."

"I am a girl. But, seeing as you’ve been thinking about ugly blonde guys–,"

"Guy. One guy."

"Okay, an ugly, blonde guy, you might not have noticed that you were dancing with a real live, honest to God girl."

"Trust me," his breath in her ear raised goosebumps on Grace’s skin, "I noticed." Strong hands pressed against her lower back, pulling her to him.

"Oh. My. I guess you did. And I thought ‘flyboy’ referred to, you know, airplanes." Jack chuckled softly, and Grace stepped back, tugging on his hand. "Your place or mine?" She knew before asking what the answer would be.

"Yours, because you have–,"

"I know, I know. I have dogs."

Jack smiled like a 10-year old boy. "But I _like_ dogs."

Grace turned to lead him toward the door, and bumped into the linebacker from the bar, who was now stumbling drunkenly across the dance floor. The man’s drink was knocked from his hand, the glass shattering and amber-colored liquid splashing across the feet of the nearest dancers.

"Ohmigod, I’m so sorry." Grace reached out and touched the man’s arm. "I’ll buy you another drink."

"Stupid bitch!" The man swatted Grace’s hand from his arm, and using an elbow, roughly shoved her into Jack. As she stumbled against him, Jack grabbed her with both hands, gently moving her to the side and stepping between her and the irate drunk.

"Hey! You!"

The drunk had begun to stagger away, but at the sound of Jack’s angry, demanding voice, he turned back around, eyeing with disdain the tall, lean, grey-haired man standing in front of him. "What the hell you want, old man?"

"Apologize to the lady."

The man snickered and looked around at the crowd of dancers nearest to the scene, who had stopped and were staring. "What _lady_? That little piece?" He pointed at Grace. "She your daughter or something?"

"Or something. Now apologize."

During the exchange, Grace had stood in stunned silence, shocked at the transformation that had come over Jack. Aside from the day they first met, when she’d been given a _tour_ of the SGC, she had only ever seen him in casual and intimate settings. For the first time, she was seeing the soldier; Jack was gone, replaced by Col. O’Neill. The handsome face had taken on a hard edge – the mouth and jaw tightening; the eyebrows forming a dark, hard line; a vein emerging across his high forehead. Even his eyes, normally a warm brown, had changed into something cold and deadly. She almost pitied the man on the other end of the dark, dangerous stare.

"I said," Jack’s whole body tensed and his voice went quiet, calm, "apologize. Now."

The drunk blinked, considering his options. The man in front of him, while he sounded tough and was obviously mad, was also much older. On top of that, the man was at a huge disadvantage when it came to weight. Looking him up and down, he drawled, "I don’t think so, tough guy."

"Jack," Grace tugged gently on his sleeve. "Come on, Jack, it’s okay. He’s just drunk." Without taking his eyes off his adversary, Jack reached over and very gently removed Grace’s hand from his jacket. "Please."

"Jack, huh?" The drunk smirked. "Please, Jack," he mimicked. "You better listen to your daughter there, mister." Jack still didn’t move or speak. "Okay. Well, while we’re waiting for you to catch your breath, old man, maybe me and your daughter’ll go outside. Get us a little of the nasty. You know, I’ll show her what a real man ca–,"

The man didn’t see what happened. All he knew was that one moment he was dressing the old geezer down, and the next moment one of his beefy arms was pinned up hard and painfully behind his back, and there was something hard as steel wrapped around his throat, cutting off his oxygen. He gagged and struggled, one-handed, to remove the constriction from around his neck. The band around his throat tightened, and pain shot up his twisted arm.

A soft voice whispered almost seductively into his right ear. "I’m only gonna say this once, six pack: tell the lady you’re sorry."

The drunk struggled ineffectually, his face turning red from the pain and the effort of drawing breath. "Can’t br–," he gasped, motioning to his throat with his free hand.

"Jack, let him go."

"I’ll let him go. After he says he’s sorry." Using the arm he had wrapped around the drunk’s neck, Jack turned the man towards Grace. "Say it."

"I–," the man gasped and looked at Grace, his eyes full of unshed tears. "I’m sor–ry, la–dy."

Immediately, the arms holding him captive were gone and he fell to his hands and knees, desperately sucking in lungfuls of air and clutching at his arm. Without another look at him, Jack stepped around the heaving man and took Grace by the elbow, leading her out of the now quiet bar. Outside, he stopped and pulled her closer, one hand gently brushing her cheek.

"You okay?" The warm, brown eyes were back, and again Grace was struck by the difference in this man, whom she cared so much for, and that stranger inside who had rushed to defend her. "Grace? Did he hurt you?"

"No, I–," she swallowed hard and leaned her head against Jack’s chest. She couldn’t help but notice that while her own heart was racing, Jack’s heartbeat was steady and slow. God, how could he be so calm after that? She lifted a shaky hand and pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I’m fine. It just – took me by surprise, that’s all."

"Idiot drunks," Jack muttered. He tilted up her face and studied it once more. "You sure you’re okay?"

Grace nodded, wondering what would happen if she said no. Would Jack go back inside and pulverize the guy? Snap the man’s neck? She seriously thought he was capable of doing it, and the thought frightened her a little. "I’m fine. He just bumped me, that’s all."

"Well, technically, Grace, he shoved you. Trust me, I know about these things." Smiling, Jack put an arm around her and led her away from the bar towards his parked truck. "Come on, I’ll take you home."

* * * * *

Jack awoke in a tangle of arms and legs. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that he wasn’t in his own bedroom, but he opened them anyway. It was still dark outside. He turned his head and looked at the clock on the nightstand. Nearly 0400. Time to rise and shine if he wanted to review Carter’s last minute reports on P4T-797, make the 0700 briefing, and then head out at 0800 sharp. And, he wanted to go over the ordnance list one more time.

But, before he could drag himself out of this nice, cozy nest, he dropped his head back on the pillow, and lay there a moment admiring what he could see of Grace’s slim body. Actually, he could feel more of it than he could see. They had a habit of sleeping all tangled up together. She did it because she was a snuggler. While Jack wasn’t complaining, he suspected his own motives weren’t nearly so altruistic; his clutching at her was more an act of desperation. He’d discovered years ago, with Sara, that if he held onto someone in his sleep, it tended to keep the nightmares at bay. After Sara and before Grace, the closest he got to sleeping with anyone on a regular basis was sharing a tent with Daniel off-world, and God knows he had no intention of spooning with Dr. Jackson. Guess that partially explained why even though he’d been getting fewer hours of sleep since he’d been dating Grace, he was actually a lot more rested: he was sleeping when he – well, slept.

Despite his best intentions, Jack must have dozed a moment, because he was awakened by something cool and wet brushing against the back of his neck. Whatever it was it touched the scar left by Hathor’s Goa’uld, causing Jack to curse and jerk up into a sitting position. Grace sat up next to him, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Jack? What’s going on?"

"Dammit!" Jack rubbed with one hand at the spot on the back of his neck, and with the other pushed Randy over to the edge of the bed, next to the Benji-looking mut named Rascal who was still soundly sleeping. "Your horny dog can’t keep her paws off me." Though he made light of it, Jack’s heart was still racing. "Sorry ‘bout that. Go back to sleep. I’m gonna catch a quick shower."

"Okay." Grace was already laying down and pulling the sheet up over her head as she spoke.

Jack showered, making sure to steer clear of all flowery-smelling stuff, then slipped into the same clothes he’d worn last night. Without disturbing the sleeping woman and the two dogs, he made his way in the dark to the kitchen. He switched on the overhead light, causing the caged bird, Digit, to flutter its wings and squawk obscenely.

"Shut up. Stupid bird." He’d never really realized until he met Digit here that he didn’t like birds. Then again, he thought maybe his dislike was due to the thing’s name; he was actually a little afraid to ask Grace how he had come by it.

Jack opened the fridge, hoping for some orange juice. He squinted at the label on something that resembled apple juice, but decided it might be something work-related, so he put it back not wanting to take a chance. Instead, he grabbed a bottle of water. Finally, rummaging through a couple of cabinets, he found what he was looking for – Frosted Pop-Tarts. Not his favorite, certainly not on a par with Fruit Loops, but the only breakfast food Grace stocked. He grabbed one of the foil packets along with his bottled water, and glaring at the still whistling fowl, turned out the kitchen light.

Grace appeared at the foot of the stairs, just as he was getting ready to sneak out the front door. "Hey, Colonel, weren’t you going to kiss me bye?"

He smiled and shoved the breakfast items in his jacket pocket before going over and hugging her. "Go back to bed."

"What time is it, anyway?"

"About 4:30." She couldn’t seem to grasp military time so he always converted for her.

"In the morning?" He laughed at the incredulous tone of her voice. Grace liked sleeping in; something he was almost incapable of after all these years in the military.

"Yeah." He kissed her softly.

"I have morning breath."

"Yup." He kissed her again. "I’ll be out of touch for a few days."

Grace frowned up at him, then hugged him tightly. "Be careful. Don’t get lost."

"Yes, ma’am."

"And if you see a pay phone–," she smiled.

"I promise I’ll call. But it’ll be collect. And very expensive."

He pulled away from her reluctantly and made his way outside to his pick-up. He started it up, and looked back towards the house. She was standing in the doorway, yawning, two small, sleepy-eyed dogs sitting at her feet. Jack sat there a moment, watching her – them. He felt a long-forgotten tug of something – homesickness maybe; the same feeling he would get when Sara and Charlie would see him off on a mission. Although he knew he had to go, part of him wanted to chuck it all, say ‘screw it,’ and climb back into bed and sleep until 1000 or 1100 hours, or however late normal people slept. Instead, he put the pick-up in gear, waved, and drove away.

Once at Cheyenne Mountain, Jack changed into his BDU’s, then spent an hour reading through Carter’s breakdown of the latest results from the probe sent to P4T-797. Apparently, and he always used that term loosely when reviewing UAV transmissions, the planet was very Earth-like – a phenomenon that was fairly common in their travels. It was also inhabited, but according to Daniel, whose report accompanied Carter’s, the indigenous population was thought to be ‘friendlies.’ Of course, Daniel thought everyone was a ‘friendly’ until proven otherwise – which was something else that seemed to happen a little too frequently – the natives turning ‘unfriendly,’ that is.

Jack, on the other hand, always went in assuming everyone was hostile; that way he was never taken by surprise when it turned out the natives weren’t members of the Daniel Jackson fan club. Jack really hated surprises, so ‘better safe than sorry’ had become his second favorite motto. And, on the rare occasions when it turned out that the friendlies truly were friendly, they could all make nicey-nice and kissy-face later, without Jack having to worry about his team getting stabbed in the back or shot in the head. Something he really wanted to avoid.

So, after reviewing his team members’ reports, he basically disregarded 85% of their contents, and set about selecting the ordnance list. P4T-797 seemed to call for the usual - some C-4, a few grenades, and P-90's, Zats, Beretta’s, and knives all around. Nothing special. Jack dropped off the list with a young lieutenant who looked like he should still be asking permission to drive daddy’s car, and headed for the commissary. The Pop-Tarts and water were long gone. He glanced at his watch: 0610. If he hurried, he could grab a quick bite, pack his gear, and still have time to double check the lieutenant’s work before the briefing.

* * * * *

As usual, Jack was the first one in the gateroom. When he strolled in at 0735, none of the technicians in the control room were surprised. In fact, if he hadn’t shown up when he did, most likely someone would have panicked and gone looking for him. It was common knowledge at the SGC that Col. O’Neill was nothing if not punctual; he was also known to be more than just a little obsessive about checking and re-checking SG-1's payload. Knowing this, Janet always made sure that Jack’s pre-mission exam was completed first. Not only did she realize he was anxious to get to the gateroom, she also knew that any delay would cause him to start snapping at her and her staff. So, while his team members were still finishing up in the infirmary, waiting to gear up, Jack had triple checked his own and the lieutenant’s work – assuring himself that nothing was missing, mentally reviewing any and every possible situation that could arise.

It was these last few minutes before a mission that were the roughest – his adrenaline surging; his mind worrying, in advance, about the safety of the mission, and whether he had planned for any and all contingencies. If he sometimes appeared a little distracted prior to stepping through the gate, it was only because his mind was already on the other side.

Hefting his pack into a more comfortable position, and checking to make sure his weapons were firmly strapped in place, Jack was aware of Carter and Teal’c coming through the open blast doors. That meant Daniel Jackson couldn’t be far behind. Good, he wanted to get going. According to the UAV, they had a seven-mile walk to the nearest village on the other side. He also knew that it was already mid-afternoon on the planet, and he wanted to get started, hoping to be able to make camp close enough to town to keep an eye on Daniel’s ‘friendlies’ overnight.

Before Jack could finish cleaning his sunglasses, Daniel ran into the gateroom, dragging his overstuffed pack behind him. Jack nodded up to the control room at Hammond, indicating that they were ready – or would be by the time the coordinates were dialed up.

As the chevrons engaged, one by one, he studied his team. Even though he was outwardly calm, Jack could still feel adrenaline rushing through his veins, causing his fingers to fidget. He pulled off his cap and re-settled it on his head; took off his sunglasses, wiped at the lenses, then pushed them back on.

"Chevron six, encoded," the technician announced.

"So, Carter, did Teal’c ever tell you the one about the Serpent, Horus, and Setesh guards?"

"Yes, sir."

Jack glanced around to make sure everyone was ready. "Daniel, buckle up."

"I am, I am." With the help of one of the SF’s who had crowed into the room behind them, Daniel fumbled his way into his pack.

"Chevron seven, locked."

"So, Carter, that whole eyes glowing, beak glistening, nose dripping Jaffa joke punch line – did you ever _get_ that?"

Carter smiled over at Teal’c. "No, sir."

Only talking to ease the tension in the room, Jack nodded, not really listening to anything but the checklist inside his own head. "Just checking, Major." Jack stepped onto the base of the ramp, in front of his team, as the MALP was maneuvered through the gate.

There was a moment of quiet as they waited for the machine to emerge on the other side and begin transmitting visual and audio feed. Jack glanced up, and saw the crew in the control room, including Hammond, studying the monitors. One of the technicians, a guy named Sparks or Starsky or Spanky, said something to the General, who leaned over and spoke into the microphone. "SG-1, you have a go."

"Yes, sir." Jack snapped a sloppy salute up to Hammond, then turned to his team with an evil grin. "Follow me, kiddies. Uncle Jack has something he wants to show you, just through that door there."

"Oh, God," Daniel mumbled, "it’s going to be one of those days."

"It won’t hurt a bit, Danny-boy. Trust me." Jack was still laughing softly as he stepped into the event horizon.

When Carter emerged on the other side, the Colonel and Teal’c were already fanning out on opposite sides of the gate. O’Neill had his P-90 up to his shoulder, ready to shoot anything that moved, and Teal’c’s staff weapon was in a similar state of readiness. Sam stepped to one side of the gate, then turned to face it, lifting her own weapon to her shoulder. As soon as Daniel stumbled into view and the wormhole shut down, she had a clear view of the landscape behind the gate. Nothing – human or otherwise – was lurking there.

"Clear," she called out. Answering calls came from O’Neill and Teal’c.

"Well," still keeping a careful eye on their surroundings, the Colonel wandered back toward the gate, "this is a little insulting. Didn’t you call ahead and make reservations, Daniel?"

"Jack, if you’d been paying attention, you’d know that the people here are a bit–"

"Backward? Dim-witted? A few bricks short of a load? Three fries–"

Daniel cut him off. "A bit less advanced. We didn’t think we should try to communicate except in person."

O’Neill smiled. "And you didn’t think being buzzed by a flying metal ‘bird’ would upset them?"

Daniel and Carter both flinched a little at that. "Sir, the UAV performed a quick fly-by. We don’t think the natives had time to detect anything out of the ordinary. The UAV had more than likely come and gone before they even heard it – _if_ they heard it."

"Some key words there, Carter," his P-90 dangling from the straps on his vest, O’Neill draped his hands familiarly over the weapon, "‘we don’t think,’ ‘more than likely.’"

"Yes, sir."

"So, which way to Oz, Major?"

The Colonel didn’t bother looking at her as he asked the question. Instead, he merely pulled his cap a little lower over his eyes, and turned in the direction of the village before she even had a chance to raise her arm to indicate north by northwest. It was then that Carter realized her CO knew a lot more about P4T-797 than he was letting on. She had no idea why he did it, but he was constantly misleading them. It was like he wanted them to think he was ignorant. ‘Why’ was the question. To keep them on their toes? Maybe. Probably. In any event, you’d think she would be used to his sleight of hand by now, but obviously she wasn’t.

"Teal’c, cover our six, buddy. And keep an eye out for the locals, people." Without looking back, the Colonel began walking. As she stepped in behind him, she heard him mutter, "Off to see the wizard and all that crap."

Despite the fact that O’Neill was quite a few years older than either she or Daniel, he sometimes set a pace that left Sam a little breathless. Today was one of those days. The terrain wasn’t particularly difficult – in fact, they had come upon and were following an old, unused path – but the atmosphere here on P4T-797 was similar to Earth at about 9000 feet above sea level. Although they were all acclimated to higher altitudes from living at the base of the Rockies, Sam also didn’t make it a habit to climb Pike’s Peak at the Colonel’s long-legged, mile-eating pace. One look at Daniel told her he was having the same problem. Catching Jackson’s eye, she smiled and winked.

"Colonel?"

"What is it, Carter?"

"I should probably take some soil samples, sir." The Colonel stopped and turned to look at her, and she halted in her tracks. "The dirt here looks," she glanced over at Daniel, who was attempting to feign ignorance while trying to catch his breath, "different. I think it might contain some trace elements of – something."

Sam watched the Colonel’s face. She could almost read his thoughts from 20 feet away as he debated on whether to grant her request or to keep marching. Knowing the Colonel, he obviously had a destination in mind that he wanted them to reach before dark. He was also probably already pissed to find that this planet, like so many others, was thick with trees, and now Sam was about to ruin his schedule, as well. He looked at her briefly, forehead wrinkling in thought, and she decided that she and Daniel were probably going to pay for the respite, however brief. Oh, well.

"Colonel?"

"Okay, Carter. You’ve got twenty minutes to do your thing. Whatever your," he waved his hand vaguely, "thing is. Daniel, give her a hand. Teal’c, I’m gonna–," he motioned with his hand, indicating the trees, and the Jaffa bowed his head in response.

Jack wandered into the line of trees, then turned and watched as Daniel and Carter removed their packs and dropped onto their butts on the ground. He was no idiot, and he knew the real reason behind Carter’s request. Once again, he was pushing too hard. ‘Gettin’ to be a habit, O’Neill.’ He studied his team a moment longer, then walked deeper into the trees.

For once, the alien weather gods were smiling on them. It felt like it was about 70 degrees Fahrenheit, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. Of course, experience told him that all those things could change in the blink of an eye, but still it was a good start. So, okay, the planet was literally covered with trees – pine trees, of course – and yeah, the air was a little thin, but other than that, things weren’t so bad here. So why did he have this nagging feeling something was about to go south?

Walking in a circular pattern around the spot where his team rested, Jack watched for anything that might be triggering his ‘I’ve got this old familiar feeling’ feeling. But nothing popped out at him – figuratively or otherwise. That had to be good, right? Still, something felt off. Maybe it was just his need to actually see these natives for himself. Knowing they were just a few miles distant, but not knowing anything about them – what they looked like, what their customs were, if they were itching to dish up some barbecued O’Neill, ‘the other white meat’ – it was all just a little unnerving.

Jack stepped over a downed tree, using his left hand to grab onto a small sapling to balance himself. With an ear-piercing rush of sharp squeals, something flew out of the thin branches and brushed unpleasantly across his face.

"God!" He stumbled backward, and raised his P-90 to – nothing. Catching his breath, slowing his heart rate, he studied the surrounding trees. Then he saw it, the culprit, perched on one of the lower branches of a tree about 15 feet away. The ugliest damned bird-thingy he’d ever seen. Just looking at it made his skin crawl, and he couldn’t help reaching up to feel the left side of his face where the thing had touched him. There was a dusty, greasy film on his skin. He pulled his hand away from his face, and smelled the residue that remained on his fingers. "Yuck!" Gagging a little, he wiped his face with his sleeve.

"Damn!" He looked over at the – whatever it was. The thing was still sitting there, watching him. "Anybody ever tell you, you could use a bath?" It cocked its head. "Yeah, you. You stink." It flapped its wings, reminiscent of Digit. "Toucan Sam, you aren’t, pal." Well, there goes Fruit Loops for breakfast.

Still cursing, Jack sidestepped around the evil looking creature – are birds considered creatures? Grace would know. Speaking of which, he glanced at his watch. 1030 hours. That meant she would be at the office, giving vaccinations or maybe just trying to get away from some old lady who wanted to talk about her cat ‘Precious’ hacking up hairballs on the kitchen floor. It also meant break time was over, and it was time for his team to hit the trail.

Wiping at his face again, Jack cut back to where he knew the others were waiting. He stepped onto the narrow pathway they’d been following, startling Sam who was carefully placing samples into her pack.

"Sir!"

"Carter," he indicated the small containers of dirt, "glad to see you kept up the pretense in my absence."

"Sir?" She sounded genuinely confused.

He shook his head. "Never mind, Major."

"O’Neill, what is that on your face?"

"Yeah, Jack, there’s something – snotty-looking on your jaw."

"Well, for that you can thank Planet Banshee here."

"Banshee? Oh, crap." Daniel cringed and rubbed his face, as if he knew Jack would use just that term when he met up with some of the locals.

"Colonel?" Carter approached with a rag.

"Have at it, Major."

Wetting the rag with the contents of her canteen, Sam scrubbed his face, grimacing as she did so. "What the hell is this stuff anyway?"

"You’re looking at cosmic canary crap, Carter. Alien bird doodie."

* * * * *

Jack’s radio crackled softly. "Colonel?"

Lowering the binoculars, he rubbed his tired eyes, and spoke into his radio. "Yeah?"

"I’m returning to camp, sir."

"Come ahead, Major." Sam must think he had it in for her, she was always afraid he was going to shoot her on her way back from a bathroom break. Smiling to himself, Jack shifted his sore body. Was it his imagination, or was the ground here harder? Of course, it could be because he’d been stretched out on his stomach on this rock-strewn hillside all night, watching the village which stretched across the valley floor below.

Jack had pulled first watch, then had moved over here on the outskirts of their camp to study the layout of the town. While his team members had taken turns watching over his six, he was able to concentrate all his thoughts on today’s mission without having to worry about one of the banshee’s bigger, uglier relatives sneaking up behind him in the dark. It was nearly daylight now, and so far they’d seen nothing aside from a few moths and something that looked like a fat raccoon.

As Carter dropped down beside him, Jack rolled over on his back, staring up at the last remaining stars and stretching out his cramped muscles. It was probably overkill to spend the entire night studying Banshee-ville, but something about it bothered him. Although he’d seen nothing unusual, just a few human-looking ‘people’ wandering the streets like any town on Earth in the middle of the night, there was something unsettling about an entire city that was walled in – a fortress. Was it an attempt to keep something out or something in?

"So, what do you think, sir?"

"I think I’m getting too old for this, that’s what I think." He looked over at her, but she had picked up the binoculars and had them trained on the town. He rolled back over on his stomach, and watched as the planet’s sun formed a pink haze on the far horizon. "As soon as it’s daylight, we’ll head out. I want to start early, but we should let them eat breakfast before we knock. I don’t want to piss off some alien because he didn’t get his Cheerios."

"Yes, sir." Carter swung the binoculars around, looking up at the hills opposite their position. "Looks simple enough."

Jack flinched. "I’ll be sure to relay your message to Gen. Custer." Obviously, Carter saw nothing wrong with sealing a village inside prison walls. Or maybe she just wasn’t paranoid about being locked up.

Sam lowered the binoculars and looked over at him. "Has anyone ever told you that you’re extremely negative?"

Jack seemed to think about it. "Well, yeah. But they’re all dead, because they didn’t listen to my negative insight." He smiled grimly.

"Yes, sir. I’ll go wake Daniel."

"Cold camp, Carter," he reminded her.

"You know, no coffee is really going to piss him off."

"Yeah? Well, maybe we’ll get invited to brunch with the aliens."

"So long as _we_ aren’t brunch."

"Hey, I’m supposed to be the negative one here, Major."

Jack watched as Carter slipped gracefully across the dark, rocky terrain to awaken her teammates. Gracefully – graceful – Grace. Jack looked at his watch. Almost midnight on earth. Grace would just be crawling under the covers, and Randy and Rascal would be sitting by the bed waiting for their mistress to get settled before jumping up and staking out their territory. Suddenly feeling tired, he leaned his head back and shut his eyes. They felt gritty and swollen from six hours of staring down at the alien city. He’d just rest them for a minute.

"O’Neill." He heard a soft voice and something bumped his shoe. Jack’s eyes shot open and he sat up. Teal’c was squatting down near Jack’s feet. "It is daylight."

Jack looked around, then scrubbed his hands across his face. He hadn’t meant to sleep, but 20 minutes didn’t really count anyway. "Yeah, I’m coming." He eased away from the edge of the hillside before standing up, his knees popping loudly. He rinsed his mouth with water from his canteen, ran a hand through his short hair, and ducked into the treeline for a quick pee.

The sun had barely cleared the horizon by the time they hit the steep trail leading down into the valley. Because of the terrain, the path was forced to snake its way down to the valley floor. It took them over an hour to reach the large gated entrance. Although the gate was locked from the inside, Jack had watched a few people coming and going earlier last night. Without hesitation, he reached up and pulled on a thick rope hanging to one side of the gate. Inside, a muted gong sounded.

"Heads up, kids."

A few minutes later, the gate began to swing open slowly. When it opened, the team stood face to face with their first local. If this man was any indication, the inhabitants of P4T-797 were humanoid. In fact, he reminded Jack of the yellow-eyed Enkarans. Except this man’s eyes weren’t yellow, they were grey, all grey – no whites. It was kind of freaky looking, especially when the man’s bushy eyebrows lowered and he stared at each of SG-1 in turn.

Resting his right hand lightly on the grip of his P-90, Jack raised his left in a small wave and smiled. "Hey, there. How ya doin’?"

The man had been staring at Teal’c, but at Jack’s words, his head turned sharply, almost wolflike, to nail Jack with a cold stare. He didn’t speak.

"You know where a guy can get some breakfast around here? Fruit Loops, if you got ‘em." He received no response. "Okay, oatmeal then." The alien continued to stare at Jack, not blinking. "Uh, Daniel, you want to help me out here?"

"Oh, uh," Daniel took a step closer to the alien. "Hello. My name is Daniel Jackson. This is Col. Jack O’Neill," Jack waggled his fingers, "Major Samantha Carter," Sam smiled, "and Teal’c," Teal’c bowed his head. "We’re peaceful explor–"

"From where do you hail?" The alien’s voice was loud and grating, not unlike the screaming banshee-thingy Jack had encountered in the woods.

Daniel’s face lit up. "You speak English." He looked over at Jack. "He speaks English."

"Daniel," Jack nodded toward the alien, who was still waiting for an answer.

"Oh, uh, from where do we hail. We – we hail from a place called Earth. It is far away. We come through the stone ring out–"

"You gain entrance by chaapa’ai."

"Ye–yes," Daniel looked over at Jack, whose hand tightened almost imperceptibly on his weapon. "Yes, we came through the chaapa’ai."

"Do you seek counsel?"

"Do we–," Daniel looked over at Jack, who shrugged. "I’m not sure what–"

"Do you seek counsel? Do you seek trade?" The alien’s voice grew louder, more grating if that were possible. "For what purpose would you enter Maltesh?"

"Maltesh? That’s the name of this place?"

Suddenly, the alien guard began to close the gate against them.

"Daniel?"

"Wait, wait!" Jackson took another step forward as the guard stopped, and stared at him again. "We–we seek to speak with the leaders of Maltesh. We come on a mission of peace. We are emissaries of another world who seek allies."

The guard smirked and squinted his eyes. "You seek counsel."

"Jeez." Jack rubbed his tired eyes; he found verbal sparring more tiring than hand to hand combat. How Daniel could decide to make it his living was beyond him.

"Yes. Yes, we seek counsel."

The guard pushed the gate open and waved them in. "Why did you not say so?"

"Exactly." Jack led the way for his team, looking the guard up and down as he passed him. "That’s exactly what I was thinking." He smiled at the alien, but got no reaction. "So, Malto-man, take me to your leader. Please."

"Jack," Daniel grimaced.

"What? I said please."

"Let me handle this okay." Jack motioned Daniel forward. "Could you please escort us to your leaders. We would like to meet with them."

The guard looked at Jack, seemed to roll his ugly, grey eyes, and shook his head in disgust. "Follow me." As he turned to lead SG-1 through the streets, Jack couldn’t help thinking that he’d found an ally all right, just not the one he’d expected.

They were led on a meandering course through the narrow city streets, but because he had spent the entire night studying the layout, Jack was able to track where they were in relation to the gated exits. He also knew that they were somewhere in the heart of the city. The guard took them to the front door of a large mansion. Like all the other buildings in Maltesh, it was made of stone and had a tiled roof; this one was just bigger – way bigger. It reminded Jack of pictures he’d seen of old castles in Europe.

At the front door, the gate guard handed them over to a set of guards wearing stiff leather uniforms. The new guards led them to a large, elaborately decorated chamber, told them to wait, and then disappeared.

Jack wandered the room, studying the doors and windows, fingering a huge rug hanging on one wall, and looking at his reflection in a large silver bowl. Despite the size of the room, there was very little furniture. Two large chairs were placed on a raised platform at one end of the room, and a row of smaller chairs lined each of two walls, facing each other. He watched as Daniel and Carter examined every little detail – statues, busts, the glass in the windows, the paint on the chairs. Daniel stopped in front of the wall hanging, his eyes wide.

"Jack, this is amazing. Look at this."

Jack sauntered back over and stood next to Daniel, looking up at the wall. "It’s a rug, Daniel. And what’s it doing on the wall anyway. Aren’t rugs for the floor?" He knew Daniel would begin telling him how it wasn’t a rug, it was a ‘tapestry,’ and how it told all about the history of these people. Didn’t all tapestries? They did in Daniel’s world. As Daniel started in on his lecture, Jack shook his head and wandered off. Daniel didn’t even notice.

Jack glanced at his watch. They’d been here over 40 minutes. "Well, this is just rude."

Teal’c stepped up beside him. "They were not expecting us, O’Neill."

"Well, yeah, I–"

"Sir." Carter approached him, staring at one of her doo-hickey’s. "This is a little strange, but I’m picking up traces of–"

"Don’t tell me, Carter. Let me guess - naquadah."

"No, sir." Carter looked up at him, her face serious. "Naquadria, sir."

Jack’s heart rate picked up slightly at the thought that they were walking around in a building that was even slightly radioactive. "You sure, Major?" But, of course, she was; this was Carter he was talking to. "Is there any danger?"

Sam shrugged. "I don’t know, sir. I’d say, no. I mean, these people live here, so there’s probably no reason for us to worry."

"You don’t think our eyes’ll turn – grey or anything?"

Carter smiled a little, but he could tell she was still nervous and excited at the possible discovery. "No, sir. I don’t think so."

A door on the far side of the room behind the raised platform opened and a line of Malteshians marched through, silencing SG-1. Jack’s hand automatically dropped to his P-90, and he noticed that Teal’c and Carter also tensed and put a hand to their own weapons. Daniel, of course, stepped forward, his face beaming at the prospect of meeting another group of aliens.

Jack counted 20 aliens who formed a line of 10 each on either side of him and his team. The aliens were all males and were dressed in what might have been considered suits. In any event, they looked very stiff and formal. Jack thought they must be the equivalent of the city council or the senate or something. Finally, after all of the aliens had taken their places, standing in front of the chairs he’d seen earlier, they was a flourish of movement at the door.

Two burly guards entered and took positions at the front of the raised platform. They were followed by a large, well-built Malteshian male. Like all of the others that Jack had seen, the man had solid grey eyes. Unlike the others, however, this man wore a long, flowing robe of a dingy yellow color, and both hands were covered in ornate jewels. The man strode across the platform and stood in front of one of the large chairs.

After a moment of complete silence, a woman entered. She was tall, not much smaller than the man. She wore a beaded dress so long that it dragged the floor behind her. Jack was amazed that she didn’t trip over the thing, but she moved with an ease that belied her size. She also wore an amazing headdress that reminded Jack of that blue thing Carter was forced to wear on Simarka. This lady, however, didn’t carry it off quite as well as Carter had, despite her protests at the time. The woman stopped beside the man, in front of the remaining chair, and turned to face the room and SG-1. Jack cringed a little when she looked directly at him. Her eyes, unlike the others’, were an amazing shade of blue – not Carter or Daniel blue, but more like ‘dress blues’ blue. God, he really hoped that wasn’t a result of exposure to naquadria.

Obviously, these two were the head honchos that they had asked to speak to. Jack started to take a step forward, but Daniel discreetly motioned him back. Well, he could take a hint. So, he waited while the two leaders sat. There was a long minute of silence during which Jack was beginning to think that Daniel had made a mistake. Perhaps he should say something. Break the ice.

"I am Dorant, Ruler of Maltesh, King of Edanon. This is my mate, Queen Sibel. Who will speak for you?" This man, like the guard, had an annoying, ear-grating voice.

Daniel glanced at Jack, then stepped forward. "I will speak, King Dorant. My name is Daniel Jackson"

"You lead – these?" He raised a jeweled hand to indicate the members of SG-1.

"Uh, no. No. That would be–"

"Me." Jack stepped up next to Daniel. "Jack O’Neill, Colonel, United States Air Force."

"You and your mate may approach." The King motioned to one of the guards at the foot of the platform. "Your attendants will be seen to."

"My mate – no. No, Carter’s not my – uh – mate."

Both the King and the Queen frowned slightly. The King again motioned to the guard, who had stopped at Jack’s protest. "See to the others."

"Wait. ‘See to the others’ – how?"

The Queen cocked her head and blinked her navy blue eyes. "They will be cared for. They are under the protection of the House of Dorant." Jack frowned at the high-pitched voice emanating from the large woman, a gesture which she obviously misunderstood. She raised an arm to indicate a large window at the back of the room. It looked out onto a garden where servants were preparing a banquet table. "As your entourage, we mean only to welcome them on your behalf."

"Oh," Jack looked around at the room full of aliens. They didn’t seem threatening, and he _would_ be able to see his team. He looked at each of his teammates; they didn’t seem bothered by being asked to leave, although Carter was probably a little upset that they’d assumed she was his ‘mate.’ Finally, Jack nodded at the Queen. "Fine."

Immediately, the remaining members of SG-1 were escorted out a side door. A moment later, Jack could see them being led to seats around the table. He hoped to God they didn’t eat or drink anything poisonous. Maybe he should have warned them.

"They will be unharmed."

At the King’s voice, Jack started, realizing that suddenly he was alone with the two rulers. Even the rows of dignitaries and the remaining guard had left the room. Guess that means they didn’t consider him a threat. Good.

"So, King–," God, where was Daniel when he needed him.

"Dorant," the ruler supplied, actually sounding kind.

"King Dorant, I’m from a planet called Earth. My team and I travel–"

The King held up a hand to silence him. "You say that this," he pointed through the window at Carter, who was sitting at the table beside one of the Malteshian dignitaries, "female is not your mate."

"Yeah, that’s right. Her name is Carter, and she’s one of my team. Like I was saying, we tr–"

"Why is your mate not in attendance?" This was from the squeaky Queen. Jack shifted his weight, annoyed that they couldn’t seem to drop the ‘mate’ thing. Queen Squeaky rose from her chair and began to make her way across the platform towards him. "You _do_ have a mate? Yes?"

The way she said it, Jack wasn’t sure if he should deny it or not. "Well," he shrugged non-committally.

The Queen had stepped off the platform and was swiftly approaching. Her blue eyes were even freakier up close. It took him a minute to realize that she didn’t have eyelashes. She also smelled funny. Not bad like the banshee-thing, but kind of stuffy, like his cabin when it hadn’t been aired out for a few months. He made himself stand steady when she reached out a long-fingered hand and touched his cheek. "You sleep alone?" Her hand, which was strangely cold and clammy, dropped to touch his chest, at the spot over his heart.

Jack’s eyes darted up to the King, seeking his reaction to his mate’s behavior. But the monarch merely sat on his throne, smiling peculiarly. The Queen ran her hand up his chest to his face. Was she coming on to him? In front of her husband, the damn King, for God’s sake? Jack panicked a little at the thought of how this strange scenario could play out.

"Yes. I mean, no. No, I don’t sleep alone. I have – I have a–," forgive me Grace, "a woman – a female."

"A mate," the Queen cooed into his left ear. Her breath smelled pretty much like the rest of her.

"Yes. A – a mate."

The Queen smiled, then turned and made her way back to her seat. When she had settled herself, the King reached over and patted her arm as if comforting her. Jack shuddered to think what would have happened if he’d denied having a ‘mate.’

The King smiled benignly. "She will attend you."

Jack swallowed. "Pardon?"

"You will bring her, your mate. She will attend you here."

"Uh, look, King – Durante, we’re just here to discuss a little alliance between our worlds, maybe a trade for some of your local minerals. I don’t think–,"

"There will be no negotiations until your mate attends you. It is our way."

"Okay." Jack shook his head, frustration and anger building. "I don’t understand what the problem is. My mate can’t ‘attend me.’ We came here from a long way off, and I–"

"Then there will be no negotiations." The two monarchs rose from their seats.

"Wait a minute, dammit!" Despite the weird eyes and what was now becoming a cloying stench in his nostrils, Jack approached the platform. "Even if it were possible, there’s no reason for my mate to be here. She has nothing to do with our wanting to negotiate. If we could just all sit down and discuss this–"

The Queen was already leaving the room, and the King’s eyes followed her. Then, he turned the grey orbs back to Jack, and his tone changed to that of someone accustomed to having his way. "When your mate attends you, you and the others will be welcomed. Negotiations will be welcomed. Until then," he motioned towards the door through which they had entered and through which the Queen had disappeared; the guards from earlier appeared. "You will be escorted from Maltesh." He nodded his head regally, then followed in the Queen’s wake.

* * * * *

Carter was talking, or rather trying to talk to one of the alien dignitaries, a man named Falan. Of course, it was a man – the only woman she’d seen the entire time she’d been here had been the Queen, Sibel. However, like the other men with whom SG-1 were seated at the banquet table, Falan was anything but talkative. Daniel was faring well enough, the man he was speaking with was at least answering most of the questions Daniel was asking, albeit reluctantly and only after a little prodding. Sam was lucky to get an affirmative grunt or a nod of the head from her companion. She suspected his reticence was due mostly to the fact that she was female, and although she tried not to take it personal, it was difficult not to.

They’d been seated less than 20 minutes, of course only playing with the food and drink that had been offered to them, when Carter spied the Colonel storming out of the building, two guards on his heels.

"Pack it up, kids, we’re out of here."

Sam was surprised by the tone of her CO’s voice. It was obvious he was mad and to her chagrin, she couldn’t help but wonder if the man she so admired had committed some faux paus that had gotten them evicted. For all their sakes, but especially O’Neill’s, she hoped not. Immediately, she and Teal’c were getting to their feet, headed for their gear which was stacked on the ground not far away. Daniel stood, but made no move away from the table.

"Jack? What’s going on?"

"Daniel, I said, pack it up."

Daniel was nothing if not persistent. "Jack, what happened?"

"Daniel!" The anger directed at Daniel by the Colonel’s voice brought to mind their argument on Euronda, causing Carter’s anxiety to skyrocket. "I’m telling you, we’re leaving. Now."

Without waiting for a response, Jack pulled on his own pack and headed for the street. Sam helped Daniel with his gear, then followed her CO, Teal’c bringing up the rear. They marched double-time down the narrow, twisting streets. If the guards were supposed to be leading them out, they were unnecessary as O’Neill seemed to know exactly where he was going. When the large entry gate came into sight, Carter realized he had known their location within the city the entire time.

If the guard at the gate was surprised at their sudden departure, he managed not to show it. He wordlessly swung open the gate, and O’Neill slipped through without so much as a ‘by your leave.’ Praying the Colonel wouldn’t set the same harried pace all the way to the Stargate, but realizing that he might, Carter listened to the gate click shut behind them and struggled to keep pace with her CO.

Daniel trotted up alongside her, leaving Teal’c to cover their six alone. "Sam, what’s going on? We just got here."

"I have no idea, Daniel, but I’d drop it if I were you."

"We can’t just – leave."

"Oh, yes, we can." Jack’s irate voice was the first indication that he was even aware of his team’s presence.

Taking the response as an invitation, Daniel scrambled up to join O’Neill. "Jack, what happened?"

"Take Carter’s advice, Daniel, and drop it." The Colonel didn’t slow his pace, even as they started the steep climb out of the valley.

"Jack, come on. Something happened." Getting no response, Daniel threw a quick glance back at Sam, then grabbed the Colonel’s sleeve. "What’d you do, Jack?"

Carter sucked in a breath as O’Neill slammed on his brakes and turned on Daniel. "What the hell do you think I am, Daniel, an idiot? You think you’re the only one who can talk to a damned alien?" Daniel was silent in the wake of the Colonel’s anger. "What? Cat got your freakin’ tongue for once, Mr. Language Guru?"

"I’m sorry, Jack, but you–you’ve got to admit that sometimes you’re not the best – diplomat. Everything seemed to be fine–"

"It did, did it? Everything was fine until Col. Kill ‘em on Sight opened his damned mouth. That what you think?"

"I didn’t say that. But if you’ll just tell me what happened, maybe we can fix it. Talk to them."

"There’s nothing to _fix_. There’s nothing to talk to them about because unlike you, Danny-boy, they don’t want to _talk_."

"Well, obviously somebody talked or you wouldn’t be pissed off."

The Colonel glared at Daniel, a look that would have made anyone else, except for maybe Teal’c, cringe and back off. "Dammit, Daniel. Maybe it’s just none of your friggin’ business." With that said, O’Neill stormed off, leaving Daniel to follow or not.

Despite the thin air, they made record time to the Stargate, and were there by early afternoon. The Colonel had remained silent and brooding, but Carter could tell by his body language that his anger was slowly dissipating. Frankly, she didn’t blame him for lashing out at Daniel. Despite her own initial thought that O’Neill had done something to cause the negotiations to collapse, Daniel coming right out and asking their CO what he’d done was totally out of line – as a member of the team and as the Colonel’s friend.

As Sam dialed home, she couldn’t help but pray that Daniel would give O’Neill a little time, and then apologize. In fact, she decided that after their requisite medical exam and de-briefing, she’d talk to Daniel about it. Make sure he ironed things out with the Colonel.

Punching in the iris code on her GDO, Carter pictured the scene in the gateroom. Hammond would have medical teams and SF’s awaiting them. After all, SG-1 was a full day early. That usually meant something had gone wrong and someone was injured. She glanced over at O’Neill, who sullenly waved her toward the gate. Well, something had gone wrong all right. She just wasn’t sure what.

* * * * *

Jack tried to keep his eyes to himself as his team sat down around the conference table in the briefing room. It was quiet, eerily so, and he knew it was mostly his own damned fault. Like everything else that had caused this day, the whole frigging mission, to take a nose dive into an ocean full of crap. Soon, he’d get to share all the wonderful little details of his meeting back on Planet Banshee with not only his commanding officer, but with his team as well. Just the thought made him feel about two inches tall.

If all that weren’t enough, Jack was exhausted. He’d walked over 14 miles and had slept less than 30 minutes in the last 30-odd hours. He was too old and too pissed to deal well with that type of physical abuse. The funny thing was, the closer they’d gotten to home, the less mad he’d been at the Malto-meal folks and the madder he’d gotten at himself. Because it all boiled down to one thing: he’d screwed up. He never should have admitted to anything. If he’d just kept his damned mouth shut, they might be hauling ass home right now with a payload of naquadria to show for it. Of course, odds were, he’d also be paying child support to Queen Squeaky in about nine months. Well, maybe nine months – who knows how long those aliens stayed pregnant. _If_ they got pregnant to begin with. Hell, for all he knew, a little hanky panky with the Queen and he’d be the one craving pickles and buying new clothes.

Still, he should have thought before answering. Shit, wasn’t that why it said ‘Colonel’ on his uniform? Well, maybe it didn’t _actually_ say that, but it should. Okay, so, a resounding ‘no, I do not have a mate,’ might have meant he was screwed, quite literally. But with his stupid ‘yes,’ he’d possibly screwed them all. God, Jack, what the hell were you thinking? Feeling angry at himself all over again, he scrubbed his hands over his face in an effort to rub away the tiredness, along with his not so nice attitude.

God knows how his team stood him sometimes. After the manic pace he’d set coming home, he was pretty sure they’d all needed a few hits off the old oxygen bottle. Hell, Janet had probably been frantically trying to determine why SG-1 was panting and heaving their guts out. And speaking of Janet, she hadn’t even been on the mission, and Jack had nearly bit her head off when she’d asked him how things went.

Deep in thought, Jack was slow at rising to his feet when Hammond approached the table. "At ease, people." The General sat down in his usual spot, just inches from Jack’s elbow. "Okay, who’d like to start?"

"Carter would love to start, sir."

"Uh, sure." Sam opened the folder in front of her, even though Jack knew she’d never even look at it. Carter was always prepared; unlike him, she always knew what to say.

"Well, General, the atmospheric results from our initial flyby with the UAV were dead-on. I took random soil samples, and will have the results from those within the next couple of days. But, from what I was able to casually observe, there was nothing remarkable about Edanon."

"Edanon?"

"The locals’ name for P4T-797, General," Daniel supplied. "Or, it could just be their name for their continent, or the part of the planet that they’re actually aware of. It’s hard to say from the brief time we spent with them." He glanced over at Jack at the last statement.

"Go on, Major."

"Well, like I said, there seemed to be nothing of note. That is, until we scanned the building where we met with the rulers. There were traces of naquadria, sir."

"These people are using naquadria in their building materials?"

"It’s difficult to say, General. I wasn’t able to perform any in-depth analyses, so I can’t say if it’s an actual component of the building. But it is there. Somewhere."

"Is it dangerous?"

"I don’t think so, sir. Not at the levels I was reading anyway. It didn’t appear to bother the locals. But, it’s possible that over an extended period of time, it would have an adverse affect on humans."

Jack inwardly cringed. She was using some of his favorite words again – ‘I don’t think,’ ‘it didn’t appear,’ ‘it’s possible.’ In his experience, nothing good ever came from stringing those phrases together.

"Were you able to make inquiries, Major?"

"Not really, General. They did throw us a banquet of sorts, but my presence was more or less just tolerated. They don’t seem to think very highly of women there, sir, so I didn’t have much luck in the conversation department."

"Actually, Sam," Daniel sat up straighter and tapped his pencil on his tablet, "it’s possible that they hold women in very high regard, but in a different way than we’re used to. I mean, there were no female servants. And we were introduced to the Queen, not just to the King. Their women are possibly merely sequestered."

" _Merely_ sequestered, Daniel?"

"Maybe they just didn’t like the whites of your eyes, Carter."

Daniel had to force back a smile at Jack’s comment. "Back to your original question, General, I did speak with one of the local dignitaries, but he claimed to have no knowledge about the construction of their buildings, other than the fact that they’re made of stone from a local quarry." Daniel looked around as if daring anyone to disagree. "I believed him, sir."

"Teal’c?"

"I agree with Daniel Jackson. I do not believe the natives with whom we met are aware of the presence or the significance of naquadria, General Hammond."

"What about any signs of the Goa’uld? Did the locals have any knowledge of them?"

"I didn’t really have a chance to talk with any of them at length on the subject," at least Daniel avoided looking at Jack this time, "but I noticed that the man I spoke with, Audnar, used a few terms that were almost like a blend of Goa’uld and, I’m not sure, Gaelic perhaps."

As Jack knew he would, Hammond finally turned to him. "Colonel, these – dignitaries, what did you make of them? Do you think they were forthcoming?"

"Uh," Jack picked up his pencil and started twirling it, "actually, sir, I didn’t speak to any of the dignitaries."

"General, Jack was invited to a _private_ audience with the King and Queen." Daniel looked a little too pleased with himself, even after Carter glared at him.

"Colonel?"

Jack shrugged, grimacing slightly as he tried to come up with a way around his immediate future.

"Well, what did they want to discuss with you?"

Jack cleared his throat. "You’d never guess, General."

"And I don’t intend to try, Colonel." Hammond frowned. "If they requested to speak with you, I’d like to know about what. I’m especially curious why, if they were willing to throw a banquet for SG-1, you’re all back so soon."

Jack cleared his throat again, and took a sip of water. "Basically, sir, they pretty much just wanted to know about my – situation. If I was available, so to speak." He couldn’t help but notice that everyone around the table, including Teal’c, sat up a little straighter at that.

"Care to clarify, Colonel? What do you mean, your ‘availability’?"

Jack looked over at Hammond, thinking ‘Do I really have to, sir?’ Then, before his courage could totally fail him, he blurted, "They wanted to know if I had a mate."

"A mate? That’s it?" The General looked surprised, but not unduly so.

"They initially assumed Sam was his mate, General." Daniel was watching Jack closely, as if finally realizing there might have been some valid reason for their premature departure.

"A fact, I might add, that King Durante couldn’t seem to get past," Jack complained.

"Well, you told them no."

Although it wasn’t a question, he protested. "Of course, I did!" He picked up the pencil again. "And I thought they’d drop it. I tried to tell them that we were there seeking an alliance, a possible trade agreement." Jack stopped, not really knowing how to continue.

"And?" Hammond waited, rather impatiently Jack thought. "Colonel?"

"These banshee-people obviously have a one-track mind, sir."

"Banshee?"

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Don’t ask, General."

Jack took a deep breath. "Apparently, it’s their custom to only negotiate with the leader _and_ his mate. So," he took another, deeper breath, "until I return with my mate who will, in their words, ‘attend me,’ there will be no negotiations. Period. Zip. End of story." He dropped the pencil in emphasis.

"But, sir," Carter smiled as if offering the easiest solution in the world, "you don’t have a mate."

Jack didn’t respond. He pressed both hands flat on the table, staring at his fingers.

"Ja–ck?" There was a moment of complete silence, during which Jack kept his eyes glued to his fingers, which were pressing against the table so hard the tips were white, bloodless. "You lied, didn’t you? You told them yes." Daniel sounded incredulous, and for some strange reason that pissed Jack off as much as having to relate this incident in the first place.

Still not looking up, he continued. "Queen Slut–"

"Sibel," Daniel quietly supplied.

"Queen Slut’s exact words were ‘do you sleep alone,’ and as you all _should_ know," he finally looked around the table at each of them, stopping at Hammond, "I cannot tell a lie." He smiled tightly, then looked back down at his hands.

It seemed to take forever for one of them to break the silence. It was Hammond. "Okay. So, we have a problem, people. These – what are they called, Dr. Jackson?"

"Uh – they’re – uh – Malteshians."

"These Malteshians have something we want. Namely, naquadria. In unknown quantities. Is that correct, Major?"

"Um," Carter coughed softly, "yes, sir."

"Colonel," Hammond’s voice was gruff, and Jack was grateful – he didn’t think he could deal with kindness right now, "you were the only one present. In what context do you think they meant that your mate should ‘attend’ you?"

"Well, obviously, I’m no linguist, and I’ve been told I’m no diplomat either," he couldn’t help glancing at Daniel, "but if I were guessing, I’d say that she is to – well, ‘attend’ me, be there, negotiate with me."

"Wait on you hand and foot?" Carter sounded a little peeved.

Jack looked her in the eye. "Maybe."

"You don’t think it could mean – something else?"

Jack looked at Hammond, a little surprised. He hadn’t thought of that. Then again, the old King and Queen did seem a little ‘loose’ for his tastes. "I – I don’t know. I would certainly hope not."

"As would I." Hammond seemed to consider something for a minute, then gave him a look that made Jack’s throat go dry. "I hesitate to ask this, Colonel, but this ‘mate’ you referred to, is it someone we know?"

Jack was taken aback. He hadn’t really thought about how he’d reveal his relationship with Grace to his team or to Hammond, but he’d certainly never planned on doing it like this. He’d always assumed he’d just ease them into it. You know, a barbecue or something. Not a de-briefing for God’s sake.

"Colonel?"

Jack took another drink of water. "Yes. Actually, sir, you do know her. So does Daniel."

"I do?" Daniel looked at Carter as if pleading innocence.

Hammond smiled. "Dr. Elliot?"

God, had he been that obvious? Jack thought back to the day Grace had been given a tour of the SGC. Hammond had been showing her around, and had brought her by Jack’s office and introduced her. When Hammond had had to take an important call, he’d asked Jack to fill in for him. Later, when Jack had been leaving for the day, he’d asked if Jack could deliver to Grace the copy of the non-disclosure agreement that she’d left behind. Now, studying the General, Jack wondered if there ever had been an important call, or if Grace had forgotten her copy or had never been offered it. Which brought to mind two questions: Had they been set up, and if so, why? Because Hammond thought they’d be good together, or because he wanted Jack to keep tabs on her?

"Grace Elliot?" Daniel looked over at Carter. "Catherine Langford’s great-niece. She was here, what, two – three months ago? You introduced us."

"Three," Jack offered.

"And you’re–," at Jack’s raised eyebrows, Daniel swallowed, "seeing her?"

"So it would seem."

"Colonel," Hammond was deep in thought, "perhaps we should talk to Dr. Elliot."

"Excuse me? About what?" But Jack was afraid he knew what the General was going to say.

"Dr. Elliot knows about the Stargate." Hammond looked at Daniel, Carter and Teal’c, knowing that Jack was already familiar with this information. "There was reason to believe that Dr. Langford had leaked information to her niece. The decision was made by the Joint Chiefs to make full disclosure to Dr. Elliot."

"Had she?" Daniel couldn’t decide whether to look at Hammond or Jack. "Leaked information?" Hammond nodded solemnly.

"Good grief, it was back in the ‘80's, Daniel, before they even knew what the damned thing was. All Grace knew for sure was that it was a," Jack made quotation marks with his fingers, "‘stone ring’ that her great-grandfather had dug out of the ground somewhere."

"If that was true, Colonel, then why did the Government wait until now to take an interest in her?"

Hammond answered for him. "Ernest Littlefield, Major."

Understanding was evident on Carter’s face. "Catherine had to explain to her who he was." They were all aware that Catherine and Ernest had renewed their relationship, and that with nowhere else to go, Ernest had moved in with Catherine.

Jack frowned. "Make disclosure to her common knowledge in order to shut her up and find out what she knows."

"As you know, Colonel, that is sometimes the most effective route to controlling information."

"Of course it is." Jack didn’t even try to hide the disgust in his voice. The officer in him knew all this, but it still pissed him off that they would try to manipulate Grace.

"Colonel, Teal’c, if we were to send back a team in order to negotiate, how do you perceive the threat potential?"

"I do not believe they will harm us, General Hammond. The few weapons that we saw were – primitive."

"Okay, ‘weapons that we saw.’ Now, that leaves a lot open there, Teal’c." Even though Jack basically agreed with the Jaffa, he thought Teal’c’s judgment call premature. His biggest disagreement, however, was with the plan he could see the General formulating.

"So, here’s what we have. We have a potential for a large quantity of naquadria from a people who _are_ willing to negotiate, albeit according to their terms. We also have a people who appear to pose a limited threat, and who may also be able to provide us with more information about the Goa’uld, according to Dr. Jackson’s belief that their language is based, at least in part, on the Goa’uld language." Hammond looked around the room.

Jack felt his hands once again pressing through the top of the table. His heart was beginning to race, and his head was starting to pound. This was beginning to go so wrong in so many ways.

"Colonel, I think–,"

"Sir, _I_ think we should grab Lt. Meyers from accounting, or Maj. Peterson from SG-12, hell, Ferretti for that matter, stick a ‘Mrs. Colonel O’Neill’ name tag on ‘em, and we’ll all go off for a nice little, pretend honeymoon to visit King and Queen Hot-to-Trot–"

"Colonel!" Hammond silenced Jack’s ranting. "And if they want Ferretti to ‘attend’ you – and I don’t mean wait on you hand and foot?"

Jack was furious. "And you think I’d let Grace ‘attend’ me? With them watching?"

"Of course not. But some roles, I don’t think even you can pull off, Jack. And pretending Ferretti or Lt. Meyers is your ‘mate’ is one of them." Hammond took a calming breath "Talk to Dr. Elliot." Jack started to protest again, but the General raised his hand silencing him. "Just talk to her."

"General," Jack rubbed his hands across his face. He’d thought he was tired earlier?

"Colonel, if you don’t, I will."

Jack looked at his commanding officer. He’d never thought he’d say this, but right now, he really, truly hated the man, and hated himself for letting this situation get so out of hand.

* * * * *

"Hi, Sandy. Is she in?" Holding the phone with one hand, Jack slipped off his shoes with the other, and leaned back on the couch.

"Just a minute, Jack, I’ll see if she’s busy."

While he waited he leafed through his mail, tossing the junk mail onto the coffee table and stacking the bills in a neat pile.

"This is Grace."

He sat up on the sofa, a smile on his face even though she couldn’t see it. "Hey, babe, how are you?"

"Jack." It sounded like she was smiling, too, and he thought he heard her office door shutting in the background. "I’m fine. I missed you."

"I was only gone one night."

"So?"

He laughed. "How’re my favorite mutts?"

"Well, Randy is – well, randy. And Rascal’s just good old Rascal. They missed you, too. For different reasons, of course."

"Of course."

"You sound tired, Jack." He didn’t answer, but rubbed his eyes. He _was_ tired. No use denying it. "Everything go okay?"

"Yeah," he answered a little too quickly. "Yeah, everything went fine. Listen," he reached over and began re-stacking the bills, "why don’t you swing by after work. We’ll get something to eat."

She was quiet for a minute. "Tell you what, I’ll swing by, but let’s stay in. I’ll cook."

"You’re kidding, right?"

"Hey! I can cook."

"Spaghetti. You cook spaghetti, Grace, with canned sauce."

"And salad."

"Okay. I’ll give you that. You make a mean salad."

"Thank you. So, how about it? Six o’clock?"

"Sounds good. Wake me if I’m asleep, okay?"

"Oh, I will. See you later, Colonel. Sleep well."

"Yeah. Bye."

Jack hung up the phone and sat for a few minutes, staring quietly out the windows looking out onto his backyard. It was only about 1400 hours. He’d left work early. Tired, fed up, in a bad mood, he’d chucked writing his report and had left without saying a word to anyone. He had had to get away from the mountain. Having the General and his team dig around, uninvited, in his personal life made him cranky to put it mildly. Well, Hammond had ordered him to talk to Grace, and he just had. So, technically, he’d followed orders.

"Dammit!" Jack threw the neat stack of bills across the room, then watched as they fluttered to the floor in a scattered shower of paper. He stared at them for a moment, then grabbed the pile of junk mail and threw it, too. He didn’t feel any better, but he didn’t feel any worse either.

Still cursing to himself, he walked to his bedroom, stripping as he went. He tossed the dirty clothes into the hamper and climbed into the shower. When he emerged his body was clean, but his mind was still filled with doubts – about why Hammond had arranged for he and Grace to meet, about his orders to talk to her, about the mission. Hell, about his ability to _lead_ the mission. After all, it was his fault they were in this mess to begin with. ‘Just say no, Jack.’ Yeah, well, it was too late now.

Lowering the blinds and drawing the drapes, Jack crawled under the sheets and threw an arm across his eyes. He was so tired of the military machine. He wished he could just go to work and do his job – fight the enemy instead of his own kind. If they could expend as much energy against the Goa’uld as they did dodging each other, the war would already have been won. Jack yawned and stretched his legs. The last thing he remembered thinking was that they should make full-sized beds longer – just because you were narrow, it didn’t mean you were short.

Out of habit, he woke without moving. He knew someone was in the room, even before he heard her whisper, ‘Stay down. Randy, no. Down.’ Curled up on his right side, his face pressed into the pillow, he smiled. Without looking, he could see her: trying to sneak into the room, crawl into bed without waking him, two anxious mutts dancing around her feet, clamoring to jump into the bed with her like they did at home. He felt the other side of the bed dip slightly, and immediately rolled over and grabbed her, yanking her across him and tossing her onto the bed. She screamed, and the dogs barked and jumped into the middle of the bed in a fit of canine jealousy.

He pinned her arms over her head with one hand, and began tickling her with the other. Laughing, cursing, she wriggled beneath him trying, and not trying, to escape. Rascal jumped over them, circled and lay down near her head. Randy struggled beneath Jack’s arm and managed to lick him on the face, which caused Grace to laugh harder.

"Why is your dog so horny?" Grace had stopped struggling, although Jack still held her hands captive.

"It’s not her fault, Jack. She’s like me – she thinks you’re cute."

"Yeah? Cute, huh?" Elbowing Randy off to the side, Jack kissed Grace. He must have let go of her hands because suddenly they were wrapped around his neck, and all thoughts of Hammond and the Goa’uld and horny mutts and the damned military seemed stupid and insignificant in light of this greater power that caught him up. Pulling away from the kiss, he cupped her face in one large hand and studied her eyes, her mouth, her nose, wanting to memorize her.

"Grace? I–,"

She frowned slightly. "What is it, Jack? What’s wrong?"

"Grace, I," his voice was soft as he lowered his head to nuzzle her neck, "I really think the mutts should leave. I don’t want them to see what I’m about to do to you."

* * * * *

Jack leaned in the doorway watching as Grace cooked dinner in his once tidy kitchen. She was wearing jeans and one of his t-shirts, her bare feet unerringly stepping over two small dogs who, like him, were watching her every move. She drained the spaghetti into the sink and stirred the sauce with a practiced ease that belied her actual cooking skills, or lack thereof. She turned to finish the salad and saw him watching her.

"Hey, I thought you were sleeping."

Jack smiled, a wide, content smile his team would not have recognized, and walked over to turn down the heat under the sauce, which was beginning to splatter over the cooktop. "My bed’s too big. I couldn’t sleep." He stepped behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and peering over her shoulder as she chopped vegetables for the salad. She was good with a knife, and he decided it was probably all those little doggie vasectomies she performed.

"Correct me if I’m wrong, but haven’t you had that bed for quite a while now?"

"Yeah, but I think I’m getting used to you hogging the covers."

Grace popped a baby carrot into his mouth, then took one herself, talking around it. "Me? You’re the one with all the legs."

"Well, you’ve got a couple of things that take up a lot of space."

"Jack," she laughed, leaning back against him.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Dr. Elliot, I’m talking about your dogs."

She swatted him on the arm. "Be nice. Go set the table."

"Yes, ma’am." He kissed her cheek before letting her go.

It was dark by the time they finished eating and clearing the table, and the temperature outside had dropped. Grabbing a couple of blankets out of the hall closet, Jack turned the dogs out into the backyard and motioned for Grace to join him. Still barefoot, she followed him up the ladder to the rooftop observatory. Jack pushed his deck chair out of the way and spread one of the blankets out on the decking, making a place for them to sit. Shivering, Grace snuggled up against him as he pulled the other blanket around them. They sat, huddled together, warming one another, and watching the night sky.

Although she could hear an occasional car, the street itself was hidden behind the peak of the roofline. Grace heard Randy bark twice at something in the dark, accompanied by the click of Rascal’s toenails as he crossed the deck and laid down at the base of the ladder, patiently awaiting his mistress’ return. Leaning her head against Jack’s firm, warm shoulder, Grace looked up at the stars.

"It feels like they’re sitting right on top of us."

"Mmm." Jack was silent for a minute. "Oh why is heaven built so far, oh why is earth set so remote? I cannot reach the nearest star that hangs afloat."1

Grace tilted her head, studying his profile. "Did you just make that up?"

He didn’t look at her, but continued stargazing. "No. It’s from _De Profundis_."

" _De Profundis_. That sounds – profound." Grace looked skyward again, marveling that the depths of the universe overhead were no more vast than the depths of the man seated beside her. He was so funny, so charming, so – annoying. But most of all, he made her feel safe. He was a friend, a lover, a protector, almost fatherly at times, and yet childlike. He even managed to occasionally quote poetry. Grace smiled; she’d never dated anyone who could recite anything, let alone poetry, and she’d certainly never imagined that the one to do so would be this man, an Air Force colonel.

"It means ‘out of the depths.’"

"What?"

Jack turned and planted a light kiss on her temple. " _De Profundis_ : out of the depths."

Grace wriggled closer to him. Out of the depths, huh? She wondered if the author, like her, had been comparing the depths of a night sky to the depths of a man. "How come you always know the right thing to say?" She felt Jack flinch, tense a little, at her question.

"Me?" He sounded incredulous.

"Yeah. No matter what we’re talking about, it seems like you always have just the right comeback."

Jack grunted softly. "Can I get that in writing?"

"See," she nudged his arm. "The perfect comeback."

"Trust me, Grace, the art of witty repartee is not one of my best traits. And, believe it or not, it often turns on me. At the most inopportune times." The way he said it, Grace knew something was bothering him. That, and the mail she’d found strewn all over the living room floor, and the fact that he had been quiet and brooding all through dinner even though he’d tried to hide it.

"I take it the gift of gab has failed you recently."

Jack’s eyes avoided her, but the long, muscled arm around her waist tightened minutely, right before he sighed. "Oh, yeah." Then the arm was removed, and he shrugged the blanket from his shoulders and tucked it around her, forming a thin, woolen barrier between them. "We," Jack stopped, coughed softly, dryly, and then tried again. "We need to talk, Grace."

She felt her heart heave inside her chest. She should have known it was too good to be true. Grasping at the rough edges of the blanket, she stared up at the stars and tried to make light of her world giving way. "Is this where you ask for your ring back, and say you hope we can still be friends?"

"What?" He looked at her sharply. "No! Wh–no, no." There was no ring. He shook his head and the corners of his mouth turned up just a little as he mumbled under his breath, "Smart-ass."

Grace faced him. "Then, what?"

"I need to tell you something. About the mission."

"Okay." For some inexplicable reason, this didn’t make her feel any better. In fact, the knot of worry merely moved from her heart to her stomach.

Jack picked up a small twig that had fallen onto the roof from a nearby tree and began slowly peeling away the bark. "We went to a place called – well, it doesn’t matter what it was called and, to be honest, I’m not sure I remember. But it was a lot like Kansas, with trees. Lot of trees, and thin air. We knew there were people living there, so we–,"

"How did you know?"

"Oh," he glanced over at her, "uh, we sent a UAV through the gate. A UAV, it’s a small, unmanned airplane with radar and video feedback capabilities. It can tell us the terrain, atmospheric conditions, things like that. It’s used for long-range reconnaissance. Anyway, about 7 miles from the gate, this one showed a large town, inhabited. So, after Carter studied the results from the UAV, made sure the air was breathable, no visible threats, things like that, we mapped out a mission. It was all pretty routine."

"Routine?" She frowned a little at the thought that going to another planet had become routine.

"Yeah. Nothing out of the ordinary. So, we left yesterday morning, and met the people."

"People? They were human?"

"Mmm," Jack made a face, "human-oid. They basically look like us; their eyes are just a little funky, that’s all. Oh, yeah, and they don’t smell so great. But, they were okay folks, as aliens go. Anyway, when we got there, we found something unexpected. Seems they have this mineral called naquadria. It’s very rare. Carter’s always looking for it. And these people on this planet, they have it. Maybe a lot of it."

"So, what did you do, draw up a trade agreement or something, like you would here, on Earth?"

"Well, typically in a case like this, that’s what we _try_ to do. I mean, not my team, we just get the ball rolling. If things look safe, promising, we bring in the diplomats, you know, the negotiators. This time, there was a little – glitch."

"What happened? Is your team all right?" It suddenly occurred to her that that would explain his mood.

"Oh, they’re fine. No one was injured or anything. For once." He smiled a little at that, then went back to peeling bark. "No, the glitch was – it was something I said, Grace. See, this planet is ruled by a king and queen. We met with them. Well, I met with them while my team went on a little picnic. And the Queen started – well, she was a little _too_ friendly, if you know what I mean. Anyway, before you know it, there I was telling them I was married."

Grace snorted out a little chuckle. "You told them you were married?"

"Yep. Clear as day. Actually, a ‘mate’ they call it. Anyway, I said, yes, I’ve got me one of those."

There was a long pause while Grace watched Jack’s long fingers work on a particularly tricky section of the twig.

"Jack, why are you telling me this?"

He sighed, stopped peeling, and tossed the twig over the side of the roof. "Because Grace, these people, they have a custom. They only negotiate with the leader _and_ his mate. So, if we want this naquadria stuff, I have to go back there – with my wife."

"Is this some sort of creepy marriage proposal? Because if it is, I don’t think it’s very funny."

"No." He laughed and finally turned to face her. "Well, I take that back. It sort of is, I guess. See, Hammond thinks you’re the woman for the job. He wants you to go back there with us, Grace. He wants you to pretend to be my wife so these people will negotiate with us."

She shivered and tugged the blanket closer. "Like I said, that’s not funny, Jack."

"Grace," he reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, but she jerked her head away from his hand. "Grace, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to ask you. Believe me. I’m – I’m just following orders here."

"You know how I feel about that – thing. Look what happened to Ernest, for God’s sake. It’s bad enough to know that you go through it every day, now you’re asking me to go with you?"

"I’m sorry."

"I hate everything it represents. You know that, right? I mean, I lived in this nice, safe little world until that thing came along. Until the stupid government came along and told me I needed to know about it, about what’s out there – those snake creatures or whatever they are. Dammit, Jack, I can’t believe you’re asking me this."

"I’m sorry."

"And would you quit saying you’re sorry!" Grace threw off the blanket and stood up, almost falling over in her rush to leave the rooftop.

Jack felt her storm down the ladder, heard her holler at Rascal and Randy to ‘come on,’ could almost see her stomping through his house, grabbing her stuff – the things shoved into his medicine cabinet; the extra clothes hanging in his closet; the dog bowls; the unopened bag of dog food in the garage that he’d bought last week; the Josh Grobin CD laying on top of the television, the only CD between them that they both liked; the brand new box of Frosted Pop-Tarts in the cabinet next to the refrigerator – cramming all of it into the trunk of her 1956 T-Bird, and leaving. Leaving his house empty. Leaving his bed too big. Leaving his life dull and lonely and quiet and – empty, way too big.

Jack sat there waiting for her to slam the car door, rev the motor, and peel out of his driveway, out of his life. But there was nothing. No sound from below. Nothing. So he sat there.

He waited. Because of Hammond and his damn orders. No. That wasn’t fair. Not really. It was because of himself, his own stupid, rookie mistake – telling the enemy something he shouldn’t have. He’d not done it in Iraq. He’d not talked when Ba’al had killed him, repeatedly. But one ugly, stinky alien with ‘dress blues’ eyes lays her hand on his chest, and he opens his mouth. Sings louder than the damned banshee-bird on the damned banshee-planet.

Jack waited.

When he opened his eyes, it was morning. He was freezing, curled up on his side on top of the thin blanket, and Grace was sitting with her back pressed up against the rails, in the corner of the deck, watching him. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, and noticed she was still barefoot, wearing the same jeans and oversized t-shirt.

"So," her voice was raspy, tired, "this naquadria stuff. How important is it?"

Jack stiffly pushed himself upright, trying not to wince. "It could help us fight the Goa’uld."

"So it’s important."

Jack nodded. "Grace, all you have to do is say no."

"Yes."

"Grace–,"

"I’ll do it."

Jack thought maybe she’d been crying. He’d never seen her cry, and the thought that he’d been up here sleeping while she was downstairs sobbing because of his stupid mistake made his head throb and his chest ache. "Why?"

"Can someone else do it? Go with you?"

"Probably. Yeah" She raised her eyebrows at him. "We’d manage."

"Would you?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"You could – pretend something like that, with someone else?"

Her words reminded him of Hammond’s yesterday. Could he? Was he capable of looking at someone else the way he looked at Grace? The way old King Durante looked at his stinky old Queen Slut and saw nothing but beauty, someone he loved? Could he pretend that with Meyers, or Peterson, or anyone else? "Probably not."

Grace stared at him for a moment, then looked away, frowning at something she saw off in the distance. "Catherine and Ernest disagree on almost everything when it comes to the Stargate. Catherine thinks it’s wonderful. She’s been in awe of it even before she knew what it was. After she found out, it became her life. She poured everything she had into it."

She paused for so long, Jack was beginning to think she’d said all she had to say. "And Ernest?" Even though he asked, he thought he could guess how Littlefield felt about it. After all, Jack had been there when they’d found him, a shriveled up mess of a man, desperately alone.

"Ernest," Grace breathed his name softly, sadly. "The Stargate took everything Ernest had. It took his chance for a normal life. It took him away from everything he loved. Everything he needed."

Jack waited. Grace rubbed her swollen eyes, and taking a deep, shaky breath, she turned back to him.

"So different. Yet they do agree on some things, Jack. They both say it is the single greatest discovery we have ever made, and that, in the end, it is the only thing that can save us."

Jack nodded. "They’re probably right."

"Yeah. I was afraid you’d say that." Grace stood and Jack rose with her. Slowly, tentatively, he crossed the deck to stand before her, and when she didn’t pull away, he leaned down and wrapped his long arms around her, encompassing her.

"Grace, I’ll take care of you. My team will take care of you. We won’t let you out of our sight."

"Promise?" That single word, flung breathlessly against his chest, caused him to hug her closer.

"I swear it."

* * * * *

From her office across the hall, Janet watched them. Grace had changed from the hospital gown back into a t-shirt and jeans, and was sitting on the edge of the exam bed, swinging her legs. The Colonel was standing next to her, so close that he kept brushing against her when he moved. Janet could see that he was talking, telling Grace something that made her smile occasionally. As he talked, he fidgeted. Picking up something shiny from the cart next to the bed, he tossed it into the air and caught it. Almost absently, Grace took it from him, putting it back on the cart.

Watching them, Janet realized that they were both nervous, not just Grace. As O’Neill reached over and tucked a shoulder-length strand of hair behind Grace’s ear, Janet also realized that she was jealous. Not of the Colonel, not of Grace, but of _them_ , as a couple. She envied the easy way in which they interacted: the casual touches; the exchange of smiles; the looks that passed between them; hell, even the private, probably silly, things that the Colonel whispered to Grace when he thought no one was looking – maybe, especially, she envied those private words.

Janet was happy for O’Neill. The man had been too long with only his team for company, and if anyone deserved a break in life, he did. It was nice, strange but nice, to catch this brief glimpse of him in the role of – well, a partner, a lover. Still, Janet felt a stab of jealousy, because _she_ wanted that, with someone. She had had it once, well almost - with her ex. Everything had always been ‘almost’ where he was concerned; nothing had ever been quite enough. But, she’d had a close enough approximation to this thing she was witnessing that Janet knew she wanted the real thing. Most of the time it didn’t bother her. She had her work, her friends, Cassie. But sometimes, seeing others engage in common, every day displays of affection, like the scene she was covertly watching, it made her heart hurt just a little.

Lost in thought, Janet watched them, laughing softly as O’Neill reached over to reclaim the shiny object. Grace said something and swatted his hand. How many times had Janet wished she could do that to her favorite Colonel? She’d felt the urge countless times, but was always hesitant because beneath all the bantering that went on between them, they were still officers in the USAF. But, that didn’t stop her from playing the scene out in her head, and imagining how the man might react if his CMO finally reached the limits of her endurance, bent him over her knee, and spanked him. In this instance, however, the tall, handsome officer merely made a face, stuck out his tongue, and reached for something else. Janet saw Grace’s lips move, and although she couldn’t hear her, she could have sworn Grace just said "real mature." Maybe she only thought that because that’s what Janet herself would have said in the same situation. She laughed again, softly, and looked down at the medical chart in her hands.

As far as Janet could tell, Grace Elliot was in perfect health. She jogged and hiked regularly, didn’t smoke, rarely drank alcohol, and didn’t do drugs. Her diet lacked a lot to be desired – too much junk food – but you wouldn’t know it to look at her. She was a lean, tan, 36-year-old who looked younger than her age. She was taller than Janet, but shorter than Sam; her nose was a bit too narrow, and her jaw a bit too square; but she had great hair, an easygoing smile, and large, green eyes. The only affectations to style that Janet had noticed during her exam were a belly button ring and 10 perfectly painted toenails. The woman didn’t even wear make-up, and yet she managed to look good.

As a woman, Janet could have easily hated Grace’s guts. Instead, she thought that, given time, she would probably like her. She was pleasant and unassuming, obviously bright and funny, and Janet liked her sharp wit and even sharper tongue. Actually, in a weird sort of way, she could have been a cross between Catherine Langford and Jack O’Neill. Speaking of whom, Janet looked up and caught the Colonel staring over at her as he juggled boxes of sterile dressings. She smiled at him, screwed up her courage, and walked across the hall to join them.

"Well," she pretended more aplomb than she felt, "you’re in perfect health."

O’Neill stood holding the boxes and looking at Janet like she’d just diagnosed his girlfriend with something terminal. "Are you sure?"

"That’s – great." Grace looked from Janet to Jack. "Right?" She sounded unsure.

The Colonel looked down as if suddenly aware that he was holding something. He set the boxes back on the cart, refusing to look at either of the women. "Yeah. Of course it is."

Janet put on her best smile. "That means you’re cleared to go off-world."

Grace slid off the bed, standing near Jack but not touching him. "Thanks, Janet."

No one moved for a few moments, then Jack forced a tight smile and clapped his hands together once. "Well, then, I guess we have a meeting to attend."

Janet hurriedly left the room before she found herself apologizing for pronouncing Grace fit. As she stepped into her office, she caught a glimpse of the couple walking, without touching, down the hallway. They looked sad and uncomfortable, and Janet suddenly felt like she had failed O’Neill.

* * * * *

The young airman stepped off the elevator and finally, Grace found herself alone with Jack. He glanced up at the camera in the corner and stepped directly beneath it, motioning for her to join him. When she did, he leaned down and hugged her, pressing his mouth close to her ear.

"You okay?" he whispered.

"Didn’t Janet just say I was?"

"That’s not what I meant."

Grace slid from his embrace as she felt the car glide to a stop. "I know what you meant, Jack, and honestly, I’m not sure." She rested a hand lightly on his chest, removing it as the doors opened. "Ask me in a week."

Reluctantly, almost like a frightened child, she followed him into the briefing room. The only thing that scared her more than meeting the rest of SG-1 was the Stargate itself. This was Jack’s team, the largest, most important part of his life, and they were absolute strangers to her. It would have been nerve-wracking enough to meet them in a casual setting, but to do so here, on their turf, under these circumstances – it made her stomach lurch.

Four people were seated at the large conference table, and they all rose from their seats when she and Jack entered the room, even the General. Jack led Grace to an empty chair that faced away from the window overlooking the gate room. He took the seat next to her as Grace looked at the other occupants. The General was on her immediate right, and Jack’s team sat across the table from her; for a moment she had the impression that she was on trial, seated between the judge and her defender, facing a jury not exactly comprised of her peers. Gen. Hammond and Dr. Jackson she recognized from her previous visit. The other two were unfamiliar, yet were known to her. They had to be none other than Samantha Carter and Teal’c, the alien.

"Dr. Elliot," Hammond’s soft, southern drawl drew her attention back to the man at the head of the table. He smiled at her in such a fatherly way that it was hard to imagine that this was the man who was forcing them into this situation. "I appreciate you joining us. And, once again, welcome to the SGC."

"Thank you, General." Despite her nervousness, she forced her voice to hold steady, firm. For Jack’s sake, she was determined that the others wouldn’t see her fear, not if she could help it.

"Grace," Jack’s hand touched her arm lightly, and she found the brief sensation of his fingers on her skin grounding; she felt her racing pulse begin to slow. He pointed across the table at the others, "You remember Daniel Jackson."

Daniel smiled at her. "It’s nice to see you again, Dr. Elliot."

"Please, call me Grace." Daniel nodded in response.

"And this is Maj. Samantha Carter."

The pretty, blonde woman smiled, but Grace could feel scrutiny in the big, blue eyes and she knew that the Major was silently evaluating her. "Dr. Elliot."

"It’s good to meet you." Grace smiled over at Jack; she could almost feel him cringe when she put on her most innocent face. "Is this the Maj. Carter who you said was too smart for her own good?"

Jack squirmed and glanced over at the Major. "Uh–,"

Carter’s eyebrows crawled up her forehead, and she looked from Grace to Jack, then back at Grace. The blue eyes lit up considerably, and Grace knew she had scored a point with the other woman in Jack’s life. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. I’m sure we’ll have a lot to talk about, Grace." Carter looked pointedly at Jack, who grimaced.

"Uh, yeah. I’m sure you will. Grace," Jack desperately indicated the large man seated on the other side of Carter, "this is my friend, Teal’c. He’s a Jaffa. He’s from a place called Chulak."

The alien’s face softened, and he bowed his head in her direction. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Dr. Elliot."

Grace couldn’t help smiling back at him, drawn to the deep voice and regal bearing. He radiated serenity and self-assurance, and she instantly saw why Jack liked him. "Teal’c, Jack’s told me a little bit about you. I’m anxious to get to know you better."

"I, too, look forward to getting to know O’Neill’s – mate." Grace thought Teal’c smiled slightly as he said that last word.

Before she had time to blush, Hammond’s voice interrupted them. "Which brings us to the reason we’re here. Dr. Elliot, I believe Col. O’Neill has told you what we’re faced with here."

Grace dropped her hands to her lap, and almost immediately felt Jack sneak a hand over to grasp hers. She squeezed back. "That the aliens on Planet Banshee have some mineral you want; that they won’t talk to you until Jack brings along the little woman."

"Oh, God." Jackson dropped his head on his arms.

Jack looked over at him. "What?"

" _What_?" Daniel raised his head. "You have to ask?"

"Is there a problem, Dr. Jackson?"

"General," Daniel looked at Hammond, but pointed towards Grace, "she talks like Jack."

Jack’s hand tightened on Grace’s but she could hear the humor in his voice. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Hammond shook his head. "Okay, people. Enough. Dr. Elliot, it’s our belief that the people on P4T-797 do not pose a serious threat. However, there is always an element of risk involved in any mission through the Stargate. I realize that what we are asking you to do is highly irregular–"

Jack huffed and mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

"What I’m trying to say, Doctor, is that I want to make sure you fully realize what you’ll be doing if you step through the gate. You’re a civilian, you’re not subject to my orders, and you may refuse to do this."

Grace looked at Jack as if asking for his permission. He shrugged and waved her on with his free hand.

"May I be perfectly honest with you, General?"

"Absolutely," Hammond smiled that same fatherly smile.

"Okay. Then, I don’t think so."

Hammond frowned, and the image of fatherly benevolence faded. He looked at Jack, then back at Grace. "I’m sorry, Doctor, but I don’t understand."

"First of all, I can’t possibly ‘realize what I’ll be doing’ until _after_ I’ve stepped through the gate. By then, of course, it’ll be too late to reconsider. And as for you allowing me to refuse, I beg to differ." Grace was aware that anger had replaced her nervousness. Good, she’d directed it at Jack earlier, now maybe she could aim it at the person who really deserved it. She felt Jack squeeze the fingers of her left hand, and wasn’t sure if it was in warning or reassurance, but she plowed on. "You know, General, despite the accent, you enunciate the words quite clearly. But, in reality, you’ve made refusing extremely difficult, if not impossible."

Grace glanced around the table. Jack was fighting back a smile; Carter and Daniel looked stunned; and Teal’c, well it was hard for her to read Teal’c just yet, but she thought he looked slightly amused. She turned back to the target of her anger. If Hammond was taken aback, he covered it well. The only sign of agitation was a slight reddening of the skin around his collar.

"I’m–"

"Excuse me, Gen. Hammond. May I finish?" Grace heard a grunt from Jack, and imagined it was due to seeing his commanding officer being reamed by a slightly underweight veterinarian.

Hammond sat up straighter, as if readying himself. "Of course, Dr. Elliot. Go right ahead."

"Thank you." Grace took a deep breath, gathering the thoughts she’d been collecting during her wait in the infirmary. "You’ve put me in a difficult situation. I say yes, and I’m forced into stepping into that abyss in the other room. I may be related to Catherine Langford, General, but I’m _not_ her. And call me irresponsible, but that ring-thingy," she saw Daniel glance over at Jack, "is something I’d really rather not think about, let alone step through. I mean, in this instance, ignorance truly was bliss. That is, until the military decided to ‘enlighten’ me." Grace paused, but Hammond knew better than to interrupt. "On the other hand, I say no, and there’s a good possibility this whole deal falls through. Jack tells me this naquadria is important in fighting the–," Grace looked at Jack.

"Goa’uld."

"Them. I may be irresponsible, but I’m not ignorant. I realize that everything hinges on the outcome of that fight." Grace pulled her hand from Jack’s and placed both hands on the table, leaning towards the General, her voice softening slightly. "I know your hands are tied, General. I know you need what these people have. I just don’t care much for your tactics. It’s petty, but it ticks me off when people try to use me. Going through Jack to get to me, well, that _really_ pisses me off. Because you and I both know, General, that if things go sour, he’s gonna be the one that pays."

Grace felt Jack shift in his chair; Hammond looked down at the table, the first indication that anything she’d said had struck home. Grace knew by that subtle move that her point was made: the General had put Jack in a no-win situation. Almost immediately, she felt her anger dissolving, slinking back into whatever hole it had crawled out of, and she cleared her throat, a little embarrassed that she’d let fly in front of Jack’s team. Grace looked at each of them. "I said I’d do it, and I will. I just–," she was suddenly at a loss for words. No one spoke.

"Well," Jack coughed dryly, "how about that game last night?" The silence in the room was deafening, much louder than Grace’s tirade had been. He reached again for the slender hand which she’d lowered back to her lap. It trembled slightly as he held it.

"My apologies, Doctor." Obviously, Hammond had regained his ability to speak. "Perhaps, you’re right. I should have handled it differently."

"Apology accepted." Grace smiled, and for the first time since entering the room, she relaxed. "Next time, pick up the phone. Call me. We’ll do lunch. But don’t send Jack."

Hammond looked relieved. "You have my word."

"Okay," Jack released Grace’s hand, "for the record, I’d like to state that there will be no ‘next time.’"

"Agreed, Colonel. Now, perhaps we should get the good Doctor some gear, and you can go over the details of what she can expect."

Jack nodded, and everyone began to leave the room. "Carter, you and Daniel get Grace geared up. We’ll meet in my office in," he glanced at his watch, "30 minutes."

"Yes, sir."

Jack patted Grace on the shoulder companionably. "They’ll take good care of you."

"So I’ve been told." She smiled, and looked past him to the General, who was standing in front of the observation window.

When Jack spoke, only she could hear him. "Don’t worry. I’ll have a talk with him." Grace nodded, and followed the others out of the room. Jack waited until they were gone, then walked over to stand alongside the General. Like his CO, he stared down at the gate room. They watched as a couple of technicians worked at one of the gears attached to the Stargate.

"Well," Hammond’s voice was soft, "I guess she told me."

Jack couldn’t help but smile at the memory. "Yeah, I guess she did, sir." They stood in silence for a while longer. "The good news is, she never stays mad."

The General grunted. "And the bad news?"

Jack thought about it. "No bad news, sir. But if it’ll make you feel any better, she’s already worried that she hurt your feelings."

"It doesn’t make me feel better. Tell her not to worry, Jack. I think I might have had that one coming." It grew quiet once more. One of the technicians below dropped a wrench; from here, there wasn’t the slightest sound of it hitting the concrete floor. "I’m sorry."

"For what, sir?" Jack thought he knew, and maybe it was his own way of getting back at the General that made him want to hear the man say it out loud.

"I’ve put you, and her, in an impossible situation, I’m afraid."

"Maybe not, sir. If everything goes right."

Hammond looked over at him, and Jack knew he was afraid of stating the obvious, of jinxing the mission by pointing out that there hadn’t been a mission yet where everything had gone right. The General turned back to the window. "Sometimes, I think I should get out. When I’m willing to place the life of a civilian on the line to get what we need–"

What could Jack say to that? ‘Yeah, you had no right.’ But, dammit, as much as Jack wanted to deny it, the General did have the right. They had to do whatever they could in the fight against the Goa’uld. And if it weren’t for the fact that it was Grace they were talking about, Jack knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to ask the same of anyone else. "She’s just scared, sir. We’ll take care of her."

Hammond glared over at him. "Damn straight. As far as I’m concerned, from this point on, that’s your core mission. The damn naquadria will be icing. You got that, Colonel?"

Jack knew what the General was thinking: the consequences of not getting the naquadria they could live with; but if Grace were hurt, or worse . . . . Jack knew Hammond’s thoughts because he had witnessed Grace’s last shot hitting its mark. He’d seen the man’s face when she’d said that Jack would be the one to pay the price. Out of everything she’d said, that was the only thing Jack wished she could take back. Because she was only partially right. Oh, he would pay all right, but so would Hammond. Jack just prayed that Grace wouldn’t have to.

"You know, General," Jack rubbed his eyes, where a tension headache was beginning to form, "she wasn’t right about everything." Hammond didn’t reply, and Jack knew the subject was closed. "Well, I’d better get down to my office, sir. The little woman hates it when I’m late."

Continuing to stare down at the gate, Hammond chuckled softly. Knowing he’d done all he could do, said all he could say, Jack left.

* * * * *

"Don’t worry about it, Sam."

"I’m not worried about it, Daniel, I just can’t believe no one thought of it."

"But someone did think of it, Carter."

They were standing in the gate room and turned to look at the Colonel, who was once again checking Grace’s gear. At the moment, he was tugging on the straps on her vest. Grace stared over at them with a ‘could someone help me here’ look on her face, a face which was nearly hidden beneath the helmet O’Neill had insisted she wear.

The Colonel straightened and looked over at them. "Grace thought of it."

"It’s no big deal, Jack." Grace tried to loosen the strap on the helmet and he shoved her hands away, and re-tightened it.

"Actually, Grace," Sam slipped into her own pack and began buckling up, "it might have been a big deal."

"Yeah," Daniel agreed. "It makes sense. Based on what little we’ve seen of Malteshian culture, I don’t think it would pay to have our leader’s mate dressed in BDU’s. Good thing we had that dress in storage. It’ll be perfect."

"Why _did_ you hang onto that little blue number, Carter?"

Sam felt herself blushing. "Well, for just such an occasion, of course."

"Of course."

Carter glanced over at her CO, but he was now occupied with checking Grace’s pack. Sam felt sorry for her. O’Neill was in full mother hen mode; something they’d all been on the receiving end of at one time or another. It wasn’t necessarily a pleasant experience.

"Jack!" Grace turned, pulling away from him. "Would you please stop fiddling with me. God, you’re making me nervous." He put his hands on his hips and gave her a patented O’Neill stare. "Okay. You’re making me _more_ nervous. Would you quit it? Please."

"Grace," Sam grinned, "you ever seen that movie, ‘A Christmas Story’?"

Despite the fact that she must be nauseous just at the thought of what she was about to do, Grace laughed and stuck her arms out, whining, "I can’t put my arms down."

Sam laughed out loud.

"You know, Jack," Daniel was struggling to keep a straight face, "you do kind of look like a mom bundling up your kid to go play in the snow."

"Okay, okay! I get it! Jeez." The Colonel looked up at the control room, and nodded at the General. He turned back toward Grace, studying her closely. "Just let me tighten this strap." He reached for it just as the gate began to turn. Grace jumped, startled, and the Colonel’s hand changed course to rest on her shoulder. "It’s okay. It’s just the dial-up."

Grace looked up at the gate, and nodded. "Sorry."

"It’s okay. It’ll light up like that six more times, then it’s gonna do that flushing thing you saw earlier. Okay?" At Grace’s tentative nod, O’Neill looked over at them. "Carter, you and Teal’c take point. Daniel, you’re with us."

As Carter watched Daniel and the Colonel take their positions on each side of Grace, she was reminded of the trip through the gate with Grace’s great-aunt Catherine. Along with Teal’c, Sam moved past them to stand at the base of the ramp, hearing O’Neill explain in his no-nonsense way what it would feel like stepping into the wormhole. Listening to him, she realized once again just how good the Colonel could be at comforting someone who was scared or hurt. Sam wasn’t exactly sure what quality it was that made him so great at it – Lord knows it was certainly different than the ‘mother hen mode’ of earlier – but whatever it was, Sam thought it was the same reason he was so good with kids. No matter his other faults, you could always trust the Colonel to take care of you. People, especially kids, seemed to sense that.

From behind her, Carter heard an intake of breath as the event horizon burst towards them, followed by O’Neill’s, "See, nothing to it." Sam sent the MALP through, and waited. A few minutes later, Hammond gave them the all clear.

"SG-1, you have a go. God’s speed."

"Thank you, General. Okay, Carter, head out."

"Yes, sir."

As she neared the wormhole, Sam heard Hammond add, "And, Colonel, remember – your core mission."

Getting ready to enter the event horizon, Sam glanced back at O’Neill, curious about the General’s comment. Grace was pale and her eyes were wide, staring up at the liquid blue which shimmered where nothing had existed moments before. Daniel and the Colonel each held onto one of her arms. Going through the wormhole could be a difficult ride, even for someone with experience. One look at the grip O’Neill had on Grace’s arm told Sam volumes about his concern. As she stepped into the cool of the vortex, Sam recalled her first trip through. The Colonel hadn’t held onto her, he’d shoved her.

When the trio emerged on the other side, Carter and Teal’c had already done a cursory check of the area. Like last time, they were alone. As the vortex shut itself off, Sam heard the sounds of retching. Looking over, she could see Daniel standing next to Grace, one hand resting lightly on her back as she bent over, vomiting. O’Neill was striding towards Carter, one hand on his P-90, and seemingly oblivious to Grace’s discomfort.

"What’ve we got, Major?"

"Everything’s clear, sir."

"Teal’c?"

"I concur."

"Okay. Teal’c," the Colonel glanced almost casually back at Grace, who was wiping her mouth and smiling shyly at Daniel, "scout out the trail ahead, then wait up. We’ll join you shortly. Keep in radio contact."

Teal’c bowed and strode off towards the trail head they had followed on their trip two days ago.

"Keep an eye out, Carter."

"Yes, sir." She glanced over at the others. Grace was rinsing her mouth out with water from Daniel’s canteen. "She okay?"

O’Neill followed her gaze. "She’ll be fine." He looked back at Sam, an odd, unidentifiable expression in his eyes. "Don’t worry, Major, she’ll pay her way."

Sam started to protest that she wasn’t worried about that, but then that would have been a lie; instead, she nodded and walked away.

* * * * *

After catching up with Teal’c, Jack set the Jaffa on point and took their six himself. That left Daniel and Carter in the middle with Grace, and him in a position to watch them. Probably in deference to their companion more so than to the thin air, Teal’c had initially set a steady, but slightly slower pace than usual. Jack radioed him to pick it up. He wanted to make their previous campsite by nightfall, and he knew when it came to hiking in the thin atmosphere of high country, Grace was probably more fit than any of them.

Watching the three ‘youngsters’ talking softly amongst themselves as they walked, Jack frowned and shifted the weight of his pack. Today was one of those days when he actually felt his age. Maybe it was something in the air here, or maybe it was just two hours of watching the others and thinking about the fact that he was 15 years Grace’s senior. Whatever it was, his knees and back ached, and his head was beginning to throb with each step.

Jack slipped off his sunglasses and ran a hand over his eyes just as Carter turned to check that he was still on their six. He had purposely fallen back, and knew that she couldn’t hear him any more than he could hear them. He nodded and gave her a quick waggle of the fingers before slipping his glasses back in place.

To tell the truth, he was a little irritated at her. Nothing she’d done specifically, he just got the impression that she doubted Grace’s ability to pull this off. Yeah, Grace had thrown up coming out of the gate, but he’d seen experienced airmen who’d done no less. Truth was, if he hadn’t been in charge and scared shitless, he would have barfed himself the first few times through. But, Carter knew that, had been through it herself, so it wasn’t that. It was seeing the way she looked at Grace when she thought no one was looking, like she was appraising her, like she didn’t trust her, or wasn’t sure about what she could expect from her.

Of course, to be fair, his team _had_ been ordered to babysit – not something in their job description. Well, technically, they didn’t have a job description, but if they had, it probably wouldn’t have been in there. And if he thought about it, Jack could remember studying Carter the same way when he’d been forced to add her to his team.

"Aw, hell." No one could hear him, so he said it out loud. This was why the Air Force frowned on personal relationships. Here he was second-guessing his 2IC, when she was only doing her job. Of course she was appraising Grace, of course she didn’t know what to expect from her. None of them did, not even Grace herself. If he were doing his own job instead of worrying about his girlfriend getting her feelings hurt, he’d have realized that.

Frustrated at himself, Jack kicked a small rock off the path, managing to send a small flare of pain through his knee. Biting his lip, he kept walking. Grace had been vomiting a few hours ago, but she’d managed to ‘suck it up,’ ‘walk it off.’ So could he. Still grimacing, he looked up at her. From the looks of her pace and her stride, she was no less winded than when they’d started out. He felt a surge of pride at her tenacity. There was no doubt she was related to Catherine Langford. They were both smart, independent, funny, and pig-headed as hell.

Earlier, after meeting with Grace and his team in his office, he’d dismissed the team and shut the door behind them. There, in the sheltered privacy of his office, he’d warned Grace how it was going to be on the mission: no hand holding; no lovey-dovey little touches and looks; no sneaking off into the bushes for a quickie. Off-world, he was the Colonel. He couldn’t afford to be distracted from that, not at the risk of his team’s lives or hers.

‘Or yours,’ she added.

He nodded. ‘Yeah. That, too. The point is, Grace, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea if I seem a little–,’

‘Cold, unkind, uncaring, cruel,’ she smiled sweetly, ‘bastardly.’

He stared at her a moment, a bit speechless. ‘Yeah. That, too.’

‘I don’t understand, Jack. My first job, I dated one of the other vets I worked with, and we constantly made out on the exam tables. Like rabbits, actually. You know, a quickie here, a quickie there.’

‘Okay, okay,’ he held up a hand to silence her. ‘Point taken.’

‘Is it?’ She stared at him a moment, smiling softly. ‘Jack, I care for you. Very much, in fact. But, difficult as it may be, I _can_ keep my hands off you, and I do know the meaning of the word professional.’

‘Yeah. Okay.’ Jack looked down at his hands. He’d been sitting on the edge of his desk and at some point during their conversation, without being aware of it, he’d reached over and taken one of her hands in his. He was still holding it. He suddenly realized the irony of his warning to her when he was the one crossing the boundary. He chuckled softly, and squeezed her hand before letting it go. ‘Professional, huh?’

‘It’s in the dictionary if you want to look it up. But,’ she stood up from her chair and stepped in front of him, wedging herself between his legs and wrapping long arms around his neck, ‘in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not off-world, yet.’

As she planted the first, soft kiss on his mouth, Jack looked over her shoulder toward the security camera mounted in the corner. He seriously intended to push her away, act ‘professionally,’ but then her tongue slipped between his lips and all he could think was ‘screw the regs.’

"O’Neill, we are nearing the campsite." Teal’c’s voice shot out of Jack’s radio, shocking him back to awareness. God, he’d been drifting.

"Teal’c, hold up." Silently cursing his swollen knee, Jack picked up his pace, drawing even with the others. "Okay, people. We’re going to set up camp south along the ridge from our last camp." At Daniel’s questioning look, he added, "Just in case someone’s been out looking around while we’ve been gone, I don’t want them knowing where to find us, Daniel."

They caught up with Teal’c and, as a group, stayed in the tree line, moving south nearly half a mile until they found a suitable place to set up. There was a small clearing in a stand of pines a few hundred yards from the ridge overlooking the valley and the city below. They’d have to backtrack in the morning to reach the trail down into the valley, but it was worth it to be able to enjoy a fire. Jack didn’t want Grace’s first MRE to be cold if he could help it. Besides, his bones could use a warm up.

While Teal’c gathered wood for a fire, and Jack and Carter checked out the perimeter of the camp, Daniel and Grace set up the three tents. It was dusk when the five of them settled around the fire. The MRE’s were eaten quickly, which is the best method of consuming something that resembles stale sock water with lumps. Propping his foot up on a small log, Jack leaned back and watched as Grace and his team stared into the firelight. Someone had made coffee, but Grace and Teal’c had both refused any and were sipping from their canteens. Jack accepted a cup from Carter, warming his hands around the small mug. When the sun had dropped over the horizon, the temperature had seemed to plummet a good 25 degrees Fahrenheit.

Carter nodded towards his elevated foot. "Knee, sir?"

He saw Grace look over at him. "It’s fine."

"So, what’s the plan tomorrow, Jack?"

"Well, we head down the hill, knock on the door, and hope Ma and Pa Kettle are a bit more hospitable this time."

"How far is it?" It dawned on him that it was the first time Grace had spoken directly to him since they’d come through the gate.

"Less than two hours from here. But, once we hit the trail head, it’s downhill all the way."

She nodded, but he couldn’t tell what was going through her mind. "Well, I hate to poop the party, but I’m going to bed."

Teal’c’s eyebrow inched up his forehead at the unfamiliar term. As Carter and Daniel mumbled ‘good-nights,’ Grace rose and made her way across the camp, headed towards the trees and away from the tents.

Jack sat up. "Grace?"

He couldn’t see her beyond the ring of light, but he heard her footsteps stop and knew she’d turned to look at him. "Ladies room, Jack." Her voice sounded soft, close in the thin night air. Without waiting for a response, she continued on. Jack looked over at Carter and inclined his head in the direction Grace had disappeared.

"Yes, sir." Carter set down her coffee cup and taking her P-90 followed Grace into the dark.

The fire popped and a brilliant finger of flame rose up briefly into the darkness, sending sparks up 15 feet or so before dying out. Tucked away in the cover of the trees, Jack felt no reason for concern.

"She’s a big girl, Jack."

He looked over at Daniel, whose face appeared monstrous in the distorted light from the fire. "Yes. She’s also never been off-world, is nervous as hell but won’t show it, and even if she did carry a gun, she can’t shoot worth a damn. What’s your point?"

Daniel shook his head. "Nothing. It’s just–,"

"If you have something to say, say it."

"Well, it’s just, I think she can take care of herself. She seems pretty capable to me."

"I’m glad you think so. And, as a matter of fact, I agree with you. But I also promised her that we wouldn’t take our eyes off of her. I mean to keep that promise."

Daniel stared into the flames and for a brief moment, Jack saw the man’s gaze turn inward before he looked back over at Jack. His thoughts were so easy to read, he might as well have had the word ‘Sha’re’ tattooed on his forehead. "You’re right. You should take care of her, Jack."

Jack nodded and leaned back against the log, shifting his weight slightly and cursing his tired, old bones.

* * * * *

Grace wasn’t sure about sleeping arrangements. Actually, she’d forgotten to ask, hadn’t thought about it until she was ready to go to bed. She knew that Teal’c and Daniel were sharing one tent because she’d seen them both going in and out of the tent earlier in the evening. But that left two empty tents and three people. So, she picked the tent with two sleeping bags, and figured she’d just wait to see who joined her.

She was dozing lightly when she heard the zipper on the tent go up and felt someone slip inside the small shelter. She heard another zipper as the empty sleeping bag was opened and could hear someone shedding a jacket and boots. Still, it could be either one of them. There was a muted clicking sound she didn’t recognize. She lay there, her back to her new roommate, trying to identify the noise. Before she could place it, she heard Jack’s soft "dammit."

Grace rolled over and found him working to release the clips that held his knife and the weird alien zat gun on his thigh. He looked over at her in the dim light of the fire which filtered through and was dyed green by the walls of the tent.

"Sorry," he whispered. "Didn’t mean to wake you."

"You didn’t." She propped herself up on one elbow and watched as he finally removed the last of the equipment and placed it beside his bed. He quickly removed his pants and slid inside the bag, grimacing as he did so. She waited until he was settled before climbing out of her warm nest and making her way over to him.

"Grace." She could hear the soft warning in his voice, but ignored it.

"Let me see your leg, Jack."

"What?"

Instead of waiting, she merely reached into the bag and began feeling his knees. The left one wasn’t so bad, but the right was swollen and warm to the touch, and he flinched slightly when she touched it. She went to the door of the tent. "I’ll be right back."

He quickly raised up on his elbows. "Get back here. Where are you going?"

"Right outside. I’ll be right back." Before he could stop her, she ducked out of the tent. Daniel was standing at the edge of the clearing, cradling a gun in his arms, and staring up at the sky. As she tiptoed toward the fire, he stared over at her, and she suddenly realized she was wearing nothing but panties and one of Jack’s Air Force t-shirts. Oh, well, nothing to be done about it, she realized. She smiled. "Just getting some water."

She felt a little sorry for him, when he mumbled, "Yeah, uh, okay. No problem."

Grabbing a canteen, she slipped back into the tent. Jack had lain back down and was laughing quietly.

"What?"

He looked up at her, still laughing. "Bet Danny-boy’s never seen that on night watch before?"

Digging through her pack, she glanced back over at him. There were very few things that gave Grace the warm fuzzies: dogs; hot chocolate, the kind made with milk and real, shaved chocolate; watching new fathers with their babies; a good book; and seeing Jack O’Neill having a good time. Grace had been a little surprised to find the latter on her list; she wasn’t quite sure when it had been added. Smiling, she found what she was looking for and sat down next to him.

"So," she opened her canteen and held out two ibuprofen, "think I’ll be a Jackson journal entry?"

He was still smiling. "Maybe. What’re those?"

"Just for the swelling." When he didn’t reach for them, she shoved them closer. "Don’t forget, I can pinch open your jaws, hold down your tongue, and have them down the back of your throat before you can bark for help."

Snorting, he took them from her and washed them down. Grace broke the chemical pack and placed it on his swollen knee, causing him to hiss slightly.

"Cold."

"Yep." She wrapped it in place with an ace bandage. As she worked, he leaned back and threw an arm over his eyes, chuckling again, softly. "Now what?"

"Just picturing it. ‘Tues. the 16th. Watch duty. Preparing to negotiate with Jack’s banshee people tomorrow. Heard something. What was that? Ohmigod, I just saw Jack’s girlfriend wearing a t-shirt and pink panties. If he finds out, he’ll kill me.’" He laughed again.

"You’re evil." She pulled the sleeping bag back over him, then tucked her pack under his feet, elevating his legs slightly, before inching back up near his shoulder. "Now, go to sleep."

"Come here first." He tugged gently on her wrist.

She let him pull her closer. "Jack. No lovey-dovey stuff. Remember?"

"Did I say that?" He kissed her gently.

"Yeah," she brushed a strand of silver hair off his forehead. "Yeah, you did."

"Oh. Well–," he kissed her once more before she pulled away.

"Go to sleep, Colonel."

"Yes, ma’am."

* * * * *

Grace awoke to frantic murmurings and the sounds of wrestling. "What?" She sat up, trying to rub sleep from her eyes. It was still night; eerie green light lit up the inside of the tent. She looked around as the murmurs grew to muffled, strangled moans. Jack. It was Jack. She scrambled from her sleeping bag and crawled over to him. He was thrashing, fighting something in his sleep. Along with the light, his moans filled the tent, the combination raising goosebumps on her flesh.

"Jack?" She touched his shoulder. He swung and she barely avoided being hit with his fist. "Jack?" She shook him gently. "Come on, wake up."

"I won’t. I won’t. No. You can’t make me." He twisted in his sleep, lines of pain around his eyes. "No. I won’t. Please. Oh, please. God, no." Grace’s heart was pounding loudly in her ears, but not loud enough to shut out the desperate, heart-wrenching cries.

Not knowing what else to do, Grace shouted his name and grabbed his swollen knee, hard. He cried out, this time in physical pain, and sat up in his bed. Eyes wide, suddenly awake, he gasped for breath. He was drenched in sweat, and looked confused.

"God." He reached for the sore knee. "What? What’s going on?" Rubbing his leg, he struggled to get his breathing back to normal, for the first time noticing Grace sitting next to him, looking scared. "Gr–Grace?"

"Jack, you were having a nightmare."

"Wha–," he looked at her, still confused, then left off rubbing his leg and covered his face with his hands. "Oh, shit."

"You okay?" He didn’t answer, but kept his face hidden from her. She saw his hands trembling, and the sight of that scared her worse than stepping through the gate. "Jack?"

Without looking at her, he reached out blindly, resting a sweaty, shaky hand on her arm. "I’m–I’m fine. I’ll be fine. It just," he swallowed loudly, and finally looked up at her, "it just takes me a minute. To remember where I am. That’s all."

"You’ve had nightmares before?"

"Oh, yeah," he smiled weakly, sadly.

"But," Grace frowned, and reached over to wipe sweat off his face. He flinched away from her touch, and immediately regretted it.

"Sorry." He reached for her hand. "I’m sorry."

"How long’s it been since you’ve had one? I mean, I’ve never seen you like this."

Finding her canteen still lying on the floor beside his bed, Jack took a long drink then ran his arm across his forehead. He took a deep, shaky breath, struggling to calm himself. It had been a bad one. Iraq. Again. All over again. His knee throbbed and he reached for it. They’d dislocated it. Years ago, and it hurt like it was yesterday.

"Jack?"

Her soft voice shocked him back to the present. "What?" He remembered she’d asked him a question. "I don’t – it’s been a while. I don’t have them so much when I’m – with someone."

Tentatively, Grace reached out again to touch him. This time, he let her. "Okay. This is bullshit."

"What?"

"Scoot over."

"Grace."

"Scoot over, flyboy." Without waiting for him to respond, she opened the sleeping bag and slid in beside him. Settling herself against him, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tightly against her chest. Cradling him.

"Grace." It was a protest, but there was no real effort behind it. In truth, the trip back in time had exhausted his reserves and it felt good to be held. He sank against her, clutching at her in desperation and relief. "Grace." This time it rose out of him on a breath of air, a whisper, almost a sob, a prayer maybe.

"I’m here, Jack." As she held him, she realized that whoever was on watch should have come running. The fact that no one had could only mean that his team was accustomed to Jack’s nightmares. Grace shivered and hugged him closer.

* * * * *

"Uh, Jack?" Smart as he was, Daniel always managed to sound a little, well, idiotic whenever he used the radio.

Sitting with his back against a tree, watching the mist rise up out of the valley below, Jack hesitated a moment before responding. "Who’s there?"

"Huh? Jack? It’s me. Daniel."

He shook his head. God, Daniel was so easy. "What do you want, Daniel?"

"Oh. Grace is on her way over to you."

"What?" Okay, now he was ticked. "And which one of you had better be coming with her?" There was silence on the other end. "Daniel?"

"Sir, it’s Carter."

Jack shook his head again, exasperated. What, were they 10 years old? How many female majors who sounded like Carter were on this mission anyway? " _What_?"

"She insisted on going alone, sir. But Teal’c is following her."

Well, thank God for Jaffas who didn’t listen to a thing Grace said. Leaning his head back against the tree trunk, Jack took a deep, shaky breath. He hadn’t realized until this moment that his heart had been racing wildly. "Roger that."

He glanced at his watch. Okay. She had 10 minutes to get here. Then, Teal’c or no Teal’c, he was going after her. He looked at his watch again to double check the time, then picked up the binoculars, trying to make out the city below. He’d been sitting here for an hour and while the fog had lifted somewhat since the sun had come up, he still couldn’t see more than a hazy outline. He checked his watch, then looked around the tree in the direction of camp, and Grace. Nothing. He turned back around and raised the binoculars again, swung them to the left. The southernmost wall surrounding Maltesh was finally emerging, taking on definition. Had it been 10 minutes yet? He wanted to look at his watch, but he forced himself to show a little restraint. Teal’c was watching her six. She’d be fine. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to–

He heard her coming. She wasn’t ‘Daniel in the early days’ loud, but she could use a little practice in the stealth department. He sighed quietly and continued to look at nothing through the binoculars until he felt her slide down next to him. Lilacs. She managed to smell like lilacs even here on Planet Stinky. He lowered the glasses and looked over at her. She looked flushed, like she’d been running.

He was trying to figure out how to say ‘And what part of don’t go wandering off alone didn’t you understand?’ without totally pissing her off, when she looked over and smiled tightly. He suddenly realized she was scared, not winded; that’s why she’d insisted on coming alone. He felt a surge of pride that she had the courage to face what frightened her.

"I saw banshee bird." She was panting softly, and he felt a small puff of warm air on his cheek when she spoke.

"No kidding?"

She shook her head and reached for his canteen. He watched as she unscrewed the cap, wiped the mouth of the flask with her sleeve, and took a deep drink before replacing the lid.

"You know, you kiss me with that mouth."

"What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. So, what’d you think? About banshee bird?"

"You’re right. It’s butt-ugly. And look at this." She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out – something that she held out toward him. He looked down at it, trying to figure out what it was, when it moved.

"What the–," Jack flinched and jerked away from her, and it. "Jeez, what is that thing?"

"I think it’s a baby banshee." Grace was holding it in the palm of one hand, and touching it with the other. She held it up to her nose and sniffed, then made a face. "Gawd. Smell it."

He pulled farther away. "I don’t want to smell it. I can smell it from here." It might not be macho, but he shivered. "It looks like a living turd."

"It’s just a baby, Jack, it won’t hurt you."

"Oh, and you know this for a fact? Put it down."

"Jack."

"I’m not kidding, Grace. It’s probably got – I don’t know, cooties or something." She set it down on the ground in front of them, watching it. "Besides, doesn’t it break some hippocratic veterinarian oath to take a baby away from its mama? I mean, what if she comes looking for it?"

"I don’t think that’s going to happen. It sort of fell off her when she flew away."

"Fell off?"

"Yeah. That’s what’s weird, Jack. Your bird? I don’t think it really is a bird. I think it’s – well, a winged marsupial of sort kind." She looked at him wide-eyed, waiting.

"So?"

"So? Jack," she shook her head, "there is no such thing. Not on Earth, anyway."

"And, I repeat: so?"

"Aagh." She growled softly, and reached out as if to strangle him. He grabbed her wrists and held her hands away from him.

"Wash your hands. That thing’s gotta be germy."

"Yes, dad." She took back the canteen and began using the water to rinse her hands, nodding towards the binoculars hanging around his neck. "So what are we looking at?"

"That, young lady, is Maltesh."

Grace finished wiping her hands on her BDU’s before accepting the binoculars Jack held out to her. He watched as she looked through them, noticing for the first time a tiny scratch on the left side of her face.

"It’s kind of pretty."

"From here."

"What’s with the wall?"

Jack was a little surprised she’d noticed, then he realized she’d probably never seen a walled city before, let alone one where the gates were locked. "You tell me."

She lowered the binoculars, squinting down at the valley. "To keep animals in? Or out maybe?"

"Maybe. But other than the turd bird family and a fat raccoon, we haven’t seen any animals."

"So, what, these people are vegetarians? Where’s the garden?"

Jack frowned. Good question. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He looked over at her. "What else?"

"I don’t know. To keep people out?"

"That’s the most likely reason." But for some reason he couldn’t explain, he didn’t think it was the real reason. Like her, he squinted down at the city.

"Jack, I think it’s dying." Her voice was soft, sad.

"What?" Confused, he looked at her; she was nudging the little turd-baby with the toe of her boot. The thing was still, unmoving. "Oh." He picked up a stick and poked it, gently for her sake. "No, I think it’s dead."

"How sad."

"It was just an ugly little – thing."

"Ugly to you, Jack. Well, to me, too. But I bet its momma didn’t think so. She probably thought it had its daddy’s eyes or – or something."

"Eyes?" He nudged her with his elbow, trying to lighten her mood. "You show me eyes on that thing, Grace, and I’ll give you 20 bucks." She snorted softly, trying not to laugh. "Okay. One eye. For one eye, I’ll give you 15."

"Stop it." She laughed then, and swatted his arm. "That’s not funny."

"Yes, it is. Now, come on," his knees popping, he stood up and reached out a hand to help her up, "let’s get some breakfast before we head out." Still holding onto her hand, he turned to lead her back to camp, but she didn’t follow. She stood looking down at the city, a tiny frown creasing her forehead.

"What if it’s to keep people in?"

When she looked over at him, he shrugged. "Gates lock from the inside."

"So? They do in prisons, too. There are guards at the gates, aren’t there?"

Jack inwardly cringed at the prison reference. Since the first time he’d seen it, the walled-in city had goaded at his dread of confinement. He forced a smile. "Since when do you know about prisons? Something you’re not telling me?"

"I’m right, aren’t I?"

"Yeah. You are." He tugged on her hand, needing to change the subject. "Come on. I’m hungry."

Still deep in thought, she glanced at the dead baby bird before following him. They walked slowly, without speaking, back through the thick cover of the trees. Despite his admonitions to her yesterday, he kept a firm grip on her fingers until they came within sight of the camp. When he let go, she reached up and touched the tiny scratch on her cheek as if feeling it for the first time.

"You should put something on that. Things tend to get nasty quick on some of these planets."

She nodded. "I will."

"Hey, guys." Daniel was sitting facing them across the fire. He was holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, and an empty MRE container in the other. "We were about to send out a search party."

Grace walked around the fire and sat down between Daniel and Carter. Jack noticed Teal’c walking back through the forest from the opposite direction, and realized the Jaffa must have circled around so that Grace wouldn’t realize she’d been followed. Grunting, Jack dropped down on the ground, facing the others.

"No need, Daniel. Just showing Grace our lovely destination."

"So," Carter was picking something that looked like a pine needle out of her half-eaten MRE, "what’d you think?"

Grace opened her mouth to speak, but Jack cut her off. "Actually, she had lots of thoughts, Carter. Most of which make me wonder if we shouldn’t have spent a little more time doing our research."

"Sir?"

Jack didn’t respond; he had pulled his pack closer and was rummaging through it.

"Grace?" Daniel was holding out an MRE towards her.

"Hey! Dr. Doolittle. Heads up." Grace turned to look at Jack just as he tossed something shiny towards her. She caught it two-handed. Seeing what it was, her face lit up, giving Jack the best thing he’d seen all day.

"Thanks." She began tearing the package open.

"What is that?" Daniel, still holding the extra MRE, leaned towards her. "Wha– hey!" He looked over at Jack. "Frosted Pop-Tarts? Since when do we get Frosted Pop-Tarts, Jack?"

" _We_ don’t, Daniel."

Grace bit into one, moaning softly for Daniel’s benefit. "Mmm."

"Jack!"

"Give her a break, Daniel. It’s our honeymoon for cryin’ out loud. Oh, and by the way, how did watch go last night? Anything you need to report?"

Jack would have given next week’s pay for a picture of Daniel’s face, and the next month’s for Grace’s laugh, even if she did spit Pop-Tart crumbs.

* * * * *

He lied! Dammit! Damn him! He’d lied to her!

Grace ripped off the beaded headdress and slung it to the floor in the corner of the tiny bathroom. Bathroom? Hell, it was quite literally a shitty closet with a hole in the floor and a bucket of – something on a rickety table. A bucket that damn well better have water in it, she thought too late, as she plunged her hands into the clear liquid and splashed it onto her face.

Water. Alien water. Slightly greasy to the touch, and so cold it made her skin burn and her forehead ache momentarily. It reminded her of the ice cream headaches that she still gave herself from eating too cold too fast. Face dripping, she looked around. There wasn’t even a towel in this damned place. What kind of people didn’t need towels?

And therein was the crux of her whole frigging day: people. They weren’t people. Grace heard her own voice hitch back a sob. Damn you, Jack O’Neill. You stinkin’ poetry quoting, Pop-Tart toting, haunted, handsome, loving, smart-mouthed, military, son-of-a-bitch, bastard. Letting the next sob escape, along with a couple of tears that blended with the liquid quickly drying on her skin, Grace stumbled over to retrieve the headdress. Instead, she sank down to the floor beside it, and hugged her knees to her chest like she was still eight years old and her daddy’s little girl.

‘Their eyes are just a little funky, that’s all. Oh, yeah, and they don’t smell so great. But, they were okay folks, as aliens go.’ That’s what he’d said. His exact words. And he’d lied. Because they weren’t okay. Not even for aliens. Of course, she’d never seen an alien before, but that didn’t matter. They still sucked – big time. Grace shivered. _They_ were the living turds on this planet, not that sad little creature laying up on the ridge. Okay, so it was dead now. But the point remained valid. Grace rested her head on her arms. They’d only been here a few hours, it was just now mid-afternoon, and she wanted to go home.

The walk down into the valley that morning had been uneventful, pleasant even. Daniel and Jack had bickered and argued the whole way, but the mood had been playful, teasing. Even Teal’c had seemed to enjoy it, staying close to the rest of them. It wasn’t until they reached the valley floor that the others had gone ‘military’ on her, and she’d suddenly realized that all their antics had been for her benefit. They’d been trying to distract her, keep her mind off of what lay ahead, and it had worked.

Jack had called a halt about a half mile from the walled city. "Teal’c, I want you and Daniel to go on ahead. Let them know we’re coming, make arrangements for our little tete-á-tete." He glanced over at Grace, smiling slightly. "The boss is with us this trip, and I’m not going to sit in their little conference room waiting on them like we did last time. Besides, if we’re going to play, we’re playing chess, and this is my opening move."

"Actually, Jack, much as I hate to admit it, that makes sense."

"Of course it does, Daniel. Now, get going. We’ll give you two hours, then we’ll head in."

True to his word, Jack wouldn’t let them move until the full two hours had passed. Grace had fidgeted, her nervousness growing in direct proportion to her boredom. At least she was able to spend the last half hour getting ready. She’d ducked behind some trees and with Sam’s help had dressed in the blue outfit that Daniel had dug out of storage back at the SGC. If she hadn’t been so nervous and scared, she would have agreed that the dress was gorgeous. At least, it would have been on someone else. She was sure it had looked better on Sam; it matched her eyes. But to be honest, Grace just felt stupid and prissy and a little top heavy what with all the gold trim and the beaded headdress.

Walking in it wasn’t a treat either, but it was almost worth it just to see Jack’s face when she’d stumbled out of her hiding place. He stood frozen in place for a minute, his jaw working as if he were attempting speech but couldn’t quite master it. Finally, he mumbled, "Wow. That’s – you look – Carter, I’d forgotten how great that dress looks."

Sam had smiled, blushing slightly. "Yes, sir."

"Okay." Jack cleared his throat, picking up his backpack and snapping his P-90 back onto his vest. He threw another glance at her. "Yeah. Uh, okay. We’d better – we should–"

"Go?"

"Huh?" Jack looked over at Sam. "Oh, yeah. Go. We should go. Um, after you."

At the gate, Jack stepped forward and pulled on the signal rope. While they were waiting for the guard to open the way to them, Jack moved close to Grace, facing her and cutting off her view of Sam. He looked down at her, standing so close she could feel the heat rising off his chest. His eyes softened and for a brief moment, Grace saw the man she thought she had left back on Earth. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sam walking off, stopping about 30 feet away and looking towards the other side of the wide valley.

Jack unwrapped his hand from around the grip of his P-90 and gently, tenderly, touched her on the chin, lifting her face slightly. "God, I–," his voice broke, and he faltered, seemed to change his mind. "I brought you something." His voice was so quiet Grace wasn’t sure she’d even heard him right.

She forced a nervous smile. "More Pop-Tarts?"

"Well, yeah. But not – not that." He coughed slightly. "I brought you a poem. Part of one anyway." Grace could swear his cheeks flushed slightly, embarrassed at his own admission. "I didn’t have to time to memorize it all, but–," the gate began to creak open, silencing him. He looked over at it as if annoyed, then back at her. The mood stolen.

"Don’t forget. We’re on you like glue. Okay?" She nodded, a little awkwardly because of the headdress. He brushed a shiny, teardrop-shaped bead away from the corner of her eye. "Don’t worry, you’ll do fine." His thumb touched her lower lip, paused there, then he reached over and grasped the white scarf that hung on the left side of the headdress. With surprising gentleness, he draped it over the lower part of her face and fastened it on the right. The hardness beginning to return to his eyes, he smiled. "Just play it by ear, and remember what I told you."

She smiled behind the veil, her breath already feeling hot on her face. "Think Shogun."

"With veils," he added.

"Right. Unless–,"

He frowned slightly. "Unless what?"

"Unless the old slut pisses me off."

Jack rubbed a hand over his eyes as he readied himself to face the guard. "Grace–,"

"I’m kidding, Jack. I’ll be good." At a hesitant glance from him, she frowned. "I promise."

And she had been. When meeting the guard, when faced with a roomful of diplomats, and even when greeted with the King and Queen. She’d been ‘good.’ One look at them, at the nightmarish eyes, and she’d wanted to scream. But she hadn’t. She’d wanted to run. But she hadn’t done that, either. She’d done what she was supposed to do; she held her ground. Then, heart racing, fighting back a wave of dizziness, she stiffened her spine, threw back her shoulders, and pretended she was the Empress of this whole damned world and these – people were her lackeys. They were nothing to her.

She hadn’t planned it. She’d only intended to act like a good little queen, Jack’s fawning wife. But one glance from Queen Sibel and Grace knew her plans had to change. She might not know aliens, but she did know women. At least she knew them well enough to know that this woman didn’t want an equal, and she didn’t want someone with whom she could negotiate. This woman wanted one thing: Jack. Well, two things: she also would much appreciate if Grace got out of the way of what she wanted. So, Grace decided to do what came natural. As Jack suggested, she would play it by ear. And her ear was telling her that the only way to deal with this woman was not to befriend her, but to beat her.

So, biting her lip, thanking God for the veil which concealed so much, Grace had stared back, unblinking, into those impossibly solid blue eyes, and she had sent a silent message that was, apparently, universal: ‘He’s mine, bitch, and you can’t have him.’ Because, finally, the alien looked away. Score one for the veterinarian in the sexy blue dress. Grace forced herself to stare at the Queen a moment longer before slowly allowing her gaze to drift away. She wouldn’t realize until later that she’d bitten her lip until it bled.

For the next few hours, Grace did what was expected of her: she nodded her head when it was called for; she spoke when addressed; she was a constant presence at Jack’s side. But she found listening difficult, concentrating impossible. In addition to the Queen’s nasty little glances, the King’s slimy grey eyes followed her every move. Their inhuman eyes made it difficult to tell where the aliens were looking; then again, Grace could feel their gaze. It was like being touched by something dead.

She knew part of the attraction was the veil. It fascinated the King, and the Queen, too, for that matter. They wanted to see what was hidden behind it. Grace was tempted to lower it, just to satisfy their curiosity, but it was too safe a place. She felt protected, insulated, there; her emotions not as visible. Besides, when planning the meeting, Jack and Daniel had thought the aliens might view Grace’s manner of dress as a sign of her importance, and thus Jack’s. It must have worked because neither the King and Queen nor the other diplomats seemed to notice Carter and the other members of the team. And, if nothing else, the aliens’ fascination with her and their resulting distraction seemed to help the negotiations. They were only half-listening to Jack and Daniel, and were answering questions without thought. Unfortunately, not one of them seemed to know much about naquadria, or anything else for that matter.

For Grace’s part, considering her inner turmoil, the waves of nausea, and the spots dancing in front of her eyes, she performed admirably. No one seemed to notice her discomfort, except perhaps for Jack, who at various times reached over and placed a comforting, steadying hand on the small of her back. ‘You’re holding your own; you’re doing good,’ that simple touch conveyed. That is, until they were being seated at the banquet table.

One moment she was standing next to Jack, brushing against his shoulder in an effort to remain close to him, and the next King Dorant was at her side, a large, clammy hand tightly gripping her elbow, leading her to a seat next to him. Grace wanted to pull away and run; she wanted to scream as he leaned his head next to hers while helping her to a chair. Instead, she breathed through her mouth, trying not to think about the reason for the particular stench that seemed to emanate from the alien; and she locked eyes with Jack, who was in a similar situation with the Queen directly across the table from Grace.

Jack. Concentrate on him. Just look at him. No one else. Smiling tightly, he stared back at her as if reading her thoughts. How he managed to carry on a conversation while surrounded by these – creatures was beyond her. Grace felt something cool touch the back of her hand, and flinched as the King laid his hand over hers. Looking at the sickening joining of their vastly different bodies, Grace took her eyes off Jack, and lost her anchor. Her gaze rose and settled into the deathly grey, lashless eyes that were obviously attempting to seduce her. She felt her breath quickening, felt bile rising up the back of her throat, felt moist heat building beneath the weight of the thin veil. The King asked her something, something about Earth, and honest to God she couldn’t remember what she’d answered. _If_ she answered. Suddenly, without thinking, she stood up. All of the aliens, and Jack and Teal’c, rose with her. Grace forced her gaze back to the man across from her.

"I’m sorry." Her voice was hushed, shaky, for him alone despite the presence of the others. "Excuse me." And then she’d finally done it – what she’d wanted to do since her arrival. She’d run from the room, and frantically scrambled down a long, twisting hallway, until at last she’d found refuge in a dirty, stinky, alien toilet. Or, at least, what she thought was a toilet.

Grace was startled by a soft tapping on the side of the doorway. There was no door, merely a heavy, wool-like drape hanging over the opening.

"Dr. Elliot?" It was Carter. "Grace?"

Grace didn’t respond. Instead, she played with the beads adorning the headdress laying on the floor beside her.

"Grace?" The voice was closer this time. Sam had opened the curtain and was staring at her. She stood there a moment, then entered and lowered herself down to the floor next to Grace. "They really know how to make a girl feel at home, huh?" Sam studied the small room, before looking back over at Grace. "You okay?"

"No." She wasn’t seeking sympathy; she was simply stating a fact. "Did Jack order you to follow me?"

Carter looked down, then like Grace began playing with the headdress. "No. Not this time. I," she blushed slightly, "I volunteered."

"This time," Grace added. She had suspected that Jack had forced his team into the babysitting business, but Carter’s words confirmed it. "I’m sorry. I’m sure watching out for me isn’t your idea of a fun mission."

"No. Really. It’s not like that. No one minds."

"Really?" Finally, Grace looked over at the pretty blonde. She might have been lying, but she sounded and looked sincere. "I would hate it."

Sam laughed. "Really, it just, I don’t know, comes with the territory, I guess."

"In other words, Jack orders you to do a lot of stuff you don’t want to, and you have to do it."

"Well," Sam shrugged, still smiling, "yeah, sometimes. But, he has his orders, too. You know what they say. . . ."

"Shit rolls downhill."

Sam looked over at the hole in the floor. "Down the hill to here."

Grace smiled, then looked away, forcing back tears and studying her hands to prove that the feeling of that alien skin on hers was nothing but a memory. "I got scared, Sam. I’m sorry. I tried. Really. But I just – I couldn’t stand him–it touching me. I–," words and her voice failed her. She shut her eyes, and swallowed against the taste of bile, or fear maybe, that filled the back of her throat.

There was a moment of complete silence, and then a dry, warm, human hand grabbed hers. "I know." Grace felt a strong, reassuring squeeze. "It’s okay."

* * * * *

"O–kay, that was a royal waste of time – no pun intended." Jack tossed his backpack onto what might possibly, maybe, pass as a sofa in somebody’s world. But not in his. It was hard, looked about as comfortable as a day in traction, was a little too small, and there was no way in hell he was going to stretch out or even sit on it, so he might as well use it for something. He removed his vest and pitched that over there as well. "Repeat after me, kids: ‘General, we went, we saw, and we came back with diddly squat.’ Everybody got that?" He looked around the room, and was greeted with tired, sullen faces. "Might as well write it down, boys and girls, cause that’s what all the mission reports are going to say. Am I mistaken? Carter? You get anything, anything at all, out of this whole damn day?"

"No, sir. Not really."

"Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say." Jack nodded, angry at all the time they’d wasted on these damn, ignorant aliens. He glanced over at Grace, who was quietly standing against the far wall in what passed for guest quarters. She looked a little green around the gills, and he suddenly realized she still had the veil across her face. Walking towards her, he passed Daniel and patted the man on the shoulder. "What about you, Danny-boy? Anything?"

"Well," Daniel yawned softly, "I learned these people are – well, uninformed."

"You mean, stupid."

"Well, I don’t know about stupid, Jack. But they don’t seem to know anything about this place. What anything is made of, how it’s made, who made it."

Jack looked over his shoulder at Daniel, raising his eyebrows and gesturing dramatically. "And that would make them?"

"Okay, okay. They’re a little – stupid."

"Thank you, Dr. Jackson." Jack turned back, stopping in front of Grace. Red-rimmed eyes looked up at him. "Anyone besides me think that’s a little odd? Them not knowing anything about their own city?" Jack reached out and unhooked the veil, lowering it. Then, using both hands, he gently removed the headdress and set it aside. Her bottom lip looked a little swollen, and he saw a drop of dried blood on the corner of her mouth.

"Perhaps these aliens were brought here by the Goa’uld. The city might have been constructed by a previous civilization."

Daniel cut in, suddenly animated, "And where is everybody anyway? I mean, here’s this huge city, and we’ve hardly seen anyone."

"I noticed that, too. And I haven’t seen a woman or a child since we’ve been here. Sir? Colonel? What do you think?"

"Yeah," Jack was studying Grace’s strained features, not really listening, "maybe." He reached out to wipe the blood from her mouth. When his finger touched her lips, she squeezed her eyes shut as if fighting back tears. Jack felt something snap inside of him. Clearing his throat, he glanced over his shoulder at the others. "You three work on it, then get some sleep. We’re leaving first thing in the morning."

"Yes, sir."

"None too soon for me." That Jackson was raring to go said a lot about the character of their hosts.

Jack nodded, then looked back at Grace. She was staring at him again, wide-eyed. "You," his voice was gentle, "walk with me." She hesitated. "Please," he added quietly. His hand pressing warmly against her lower back, Grace allowed herself to be led to the large doorway on the exterior wall; it opened onto a large courtyard, complete with gardens. The whole idea of these creatures gardening was hard to picture, and more than a little disturbing. He glanced back at Carter as they stepped outside. "We’ll just be a minute."

Carter nodded, and forced a tiny, rigid smile.

His arm still on her waist, they walked along a shrub-lined pathway. It was almost midnight by the alien clock, and what passed for a moon was sitting low and hazy on the ridge above them. When they reached the end of the light streaking out from the doorway behind them, they stepped past it into the cover of darkness. A few feet beyond was a small, hard bench, not much different than the sofa inside. He led Grace to it. She sank down bonelessly, and he sat down beside her.

She was staring vacantly at her lap, obviously seeing nothing. "Grace." She didn’t look up, and he wasn’t even sure she’d heard him. Forcing her chin up with one hand, he kept his voice low, aware that the others might still be able to hear them. "Grace. Hey, look at me." When she finally did, he almost wished she hadn’t. Huge, shiny tears leaked out of her eyes and rolled impossibly slow down her face. One stopped at the corner of her mouth, and ran across her swollen lip, highlighting it in the meager light.

"Oh God, baby, come here." Without another word he pulled her into an embrace meant to shut out the world. Long arms engulfed her, and a calloused hand buried itself in her hair, pressing her head to his chest. He felt her shoulders shaking, and was aware of a growing dampness on his shirt. Otherwise, they sat without moving.

Jack wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he felt movement, a slight softening of the muscles under his hands as she began to relax. Still, he held her, until she raised her hands to his chest and pushed herself back far enough to look up at him.

"I’m sorry."

"For what?" He couldn’t help reaching up to brush the wild, mussed strands of hair away from her face.

"For – that. And for losing it earlier. For–," she shook her head and looked away. "I didn’t handle it well. I thought–,"

"No." He grabbed her head in both hands, forcing her to look at him. "You handled it great. You did fine, you hear?"

"But you didn’t get the naquadria. You didn’t learn anything." She sounded like she was going to start crying again, and Jack tightened his grip slightly.

"Grace. We didn’t get the naquadria because these – people don’t have it to give. And they’re not interested in helping us find it, or letting us look on our own. And we didn’t learn anything because there’s nothing to learn. Grace," he pulled her towards him and pressed his mouth against her forehead, "none of this was your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault."

Smaller hands rose up and rested on his, which still cradled her head. "Promise?"

"I swear it." He planted a kiss on her forehead, before releasing her. "Now," he stood up and reached down a hand to her, "do you want that gift I brought you or not?"

Standing up, she smiled at him. Puffy eyes, red nose, swollen lips – Jack’s heart seized momentarily at the sight of her looking up at him, trusting him. "Yeah, that’d be nice."

"Okay. But I have this rule about reciting poetry." She looked at him, suddenly curious. "You can’t watch me do it. It makes me nervous." She chuckled softly, and he grabbed her waist, forcing her to turn around. They stood there at the back of the quiet garden, the light from inside forming a soft glow behind them. Jack pulled her to him, her back pressed against his front, and wrapping his arms around her, he leaned down and placed his mouth near her ear as she stared up at the foreign night sky. "Ready?"

She nodded, and from this angle he saw a ghost of a smile light up her face. He shook her gently. "No laughing."

"I promise. No laughing." She covered his arms and hands with her own, and leaned her head towards him.

"Here goes. It’s a long one." Jack took a deep breath and shutting his own eyes, he whispered in her ear.

‘To clasp you now and feel your head close-pressed,  
Scented and warm against my beating breast;  
To whisper soft and quivering your name,  
And drink the passion burning in your frame;  
To lie at full length, taut, with cheek to cheek,  
And tease your mouth with kisses till you speak  
Love words, mad words, dream words, sweet senseless words,  
Melodious like notes of mating birds;  
To hear you ask if I shall love always,  
And myself answer: Till the end of days.’2

Jack opened his eyes. Grace was silent, still staring up at the dim moon. He wondered if she had caught the meaning behind the words. Did she realize that this was his way of telling her how he felt without having to use his own pitiful words? She’d been ashamed of her behavior with King Durante; thought she was a coward because his slimy hands on her perfect skin had made her ill. Yet, she’d stared down the Queen Bitch, swallowed back what must have been a shitload of fright to sit in that godawful room, and that was after dragging her ass through the damned gate to get here in the first place. And she thought she was a coward. Then, here he was – the big man, the Colonel, the warrior, and he couldn’t speak a few little words. He had to hide behind someone else’s. So, who’s the real coward here?

"Grace?"

She turned in his arms, and smiled up at him. "That’s the best gift anyone has ever given me."

Jack smiled, then he kissed her. It wasn’t an easy, friendly, gentle kiss; it was the kind of kiss he’d warned her was forbidden here. But he braved it anyway. It turned out to be one of the best kisses he’d had. Ever. Breathless, he drew away from her, studying her face.

Grace opened her eyes, revealing liquid pools of green. She was panting slightly, and when she licked her swollen lip, Jack realized he’d probably hurt her. He thought she was going to ask him something, but she changed her mind and smiled at him instead.

Grace smiled on him. His lips brushed feather soft against hers. "Till the end of days," he promised.

Jack never saw what hit him.

* * * * *

Tucked away in Jack’s embrace, crying on his shoulder, leaning back while he whispered loving words to her, Grace felt the world, this world, slip away. She swore she felt a jolt in her body as the piece of her that had wandered away earlier today came back. It was as though she had somehow lost her balance and Jack had found it for her, was helping her to regain her footing.

In these last few months, Grace had learned many things. She had learned the best way to hold a knife in hand-to-hand combat; she’d learned how to pick the lock on her own front door and feel like a criminal at the same time; she’d learned that Air Force colonels can like poetry and opera; that it was possible for a dog to have a crush on a human; and that it wasn’t just her opinion, her cooking truly did suck. Then there was today. Today would rank high on the ‘I learned something about myself’ list of days in her life.

Was it just this morning that she’d garnered up the courage to traipse through a few hundred yards of dense trees to find Jack? She almost laughed now at the absurdity of the moment. She’d noticed during the morning bathroom break that Carter was hanging close again. A little too close. Jack had promised her that they wouldn’t let her out of their sight, so it shouldn’t have ticked her off to realize that he’d meant that quite literally. But it had. It had made her mad. Not at them. At herself. She was a grown woman after all, spent days at a time hiking alone with her dogs in the mountains. She would show them, but mostly she would show herself. So she’d gone, for two reasons: she’d prove to herself that she wasn’t afraid of a little alien landscape, and it would give her a chance to talk to Jack alone, about the nightmares.

Her courage had failed her on both counts. Miserably. One look at Jack’s banshee creature, one soft, unidentifiable sound from the tree towering over her, and she had scooped the dying baby into her pocket and ran like hell for Jack. To the feeling of safety that he evoked. Then, once there, her courage had failed her again. She’d opened her mouth, wanting to ask him what could cause the bravest man she knew to cry out in fear and pain in the middle of the night; not really sure if she wanted to hear the reason, but needing to know. She’d opened her mouth, and what came out? ‘I saw banshee bird.’

Bad as it was at the time, looking back, it still counted as one of the better moments in her day. Until now. Until this. She wondered what the poet, if there was one – she still thought Jack made up half of what he quoted her as he went along – would think if he or she knew that a tall, handsome USAF colonel would tote the words millions, maybe billions of miles from Earth to recite them to a scared veterinarian. What were the odds of that?

"Grace?"

She turned in his arms. The light from inside fell behind him, forming a soft halo. How very – inappropriate. Jack O’Neill was a lot of things, but an angel? Not even close. Grace smiled up at him. "That’s the best gift anyone has ever given me."

As Jack kissed her, her heart hammered in her chest like it had done the first time he’d taken her in his arms. His mouth, a dangerous weapon that he could wield with passionate disregard when it came to the spoken word, suddenly delivered a different sort of pain. It pressed hard, unforgiving, against the cut on her lip, and she relished the sting it brought. It was another reminder that she was here, not there; that it was Jack to whom she gave herself. Jack who would care for her, protect her. When he pulled away from her, she felt a little of her life go with him, and she opened her mouth, wanting to ask the poet’s question: Would he love her always? The inveterate coward, she was afraid to know.

"Till the end of days." His lips brushed hers again, softly this time, a healing touch on her tender mouth. Jack’s promise in a poet’s words.

Without warning, still shocked by his admission, Grace felt the wind knocked out of her when Jack’s body slammed into her. Falling beneath him, confused, trying to hold him and herself upright, Grace opened her mouth to shout for help, but something wrapped itself around her jaw, across her mouth, shutting off her cries. Twisting and clawing at unseen hands, which pulled her deeper into the darkness, she watched as Jack’s body hit the ground with a dull sound. Fighting with everything she had, Grace stared helplessly as Jack, moaning, struggled to rise to his feet. A shadowy figure appeared beside him and swung something, a club or a stick, towards his head. With a grunt and an exhalation of air, Jack dropped lifeless.

A scream, silenced by whatever covered her mouth, was ripped from her at the sight, and shock momentarily stunned her into inaction. Behind the shock, however, a flood of anger surged through her, empowering her, and causing her struggles to renew. Even as she watched two large shadows grab Jack’s limp body and drag him into the darkness in her wake, she kicked and squirmed and clawed at her attackers. She knew there was more than one. Their hard hands clutched at her, bruising where they touched. When she felt a long-fingered hand grab onto her ankle, she aimed a kick where she thought the man would be and was pleased to hear a muffled groan. But the fight was accomplishing nothing. By the time they had carried her to a back entrance to the garden and out into the city streets, her energy was flagging and she knew that she was not going to be able to free herself, or Jack. If he were still alive.

* * * * *

The alien beds were no better than the sofa, so Carter pulled out her sleeping bag and unrolled it onto the floor of their guest quarters. Teal’c was performing kel-no-reem in the corner of the large room, and Daniel was quietly digging through a pack. Despite the Colonel’s orders, there had been nothing to "work on" or even to discuss, aside from the fact that they were all three ready to go home. Sam wished the useless talks had concluded earlier, then they could have camped where they’d spent the previous night. But, it had been late, and while the aliens were exasperatingly uninformed and unhelpful, they didn’t appear threatening. So, the decision had been made to take them up on the offer to spend the night. Taking into consideration the time difference, they could make it back to the gate, do the de-brief and be done with their physicals before noon tomorrow.

Sam sighed as she stretched out, fully clothed, on top of her sleeping bag. "Daniel, what are you looking for?" When he didn’t answer, she turned her head to look at him. He had an arm extended down into the pack and was feeling for something. "That’s not your pack, you know."

He looked at her, smiling like a kid who’s been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. "Yeah."

"Daniel. You mess his stuff up, you’re going to be pulling double watches."

"I’m hungry and I know they’re in here somewhere. Damn," he cursed, softly because he wasn’t sure exactly how far outside Jack and Grace had gone, "how does he get all this stuff crammed in here so tight?"

Sam turned back around and put her hands behind her head, staring up at the ceiling. "I’d watch it if I were you, you never know–,"

"Ow." Daniel hissed and when she glanced back he was sucking on a finger.

"–what all’s in there. One time I saw him pull out what looked like a small machete."

Daniel’s eyes widened. "Why would Jack keep a machete in his pack?" He shook his head. "Never mind. Don’t answer that."

"Besides, Daniel, you wouldn’t be eating the Colonel’s breakfast. You’d be eating Grace’s."

That did it. Daniel dropped the pack and moved over to sit beside Sam, pulling a Butterfinger out of his shirt pocket. He broke off a small piece and offered it to her. Both munching the sweet chocolate, they relaxed for a few minutes.

"What do you think they’re doing out there?"

Sam looked at him, frowning.

"Oh. Right. I’m sure they’re just – talking."

"Actually, Daniel, they probably are just talking. She was pretty upset."

"Yeah." Daniel licked chocolate off his thumb. "Can’t say I blame her. I hate to think what nasty, alien, dirty old man thoughts were going through Dorant’s mind."

"Yeah." They were quiet for a moment, then Sam chuckled softly. "Did you see the Colonel?"

Daniel laughed along with her. "Couple of times I thought Queen Slut was going to slip him the tongue. If she has one, that is."

"Daniel!" Carter slapped his leg. The laughter trailed off.

He played with the candy bar wrapper. "I like her, Sam."

"Yeah, me, too." Sam sat up on the sleeping bag, wrapping her arms around her legs. It reminded her of when she’d found Grace huddled pitifully in the bathroom. "This is stupid, but when the Colonel first told us about her, I–I was," she swallowed, embarrassed at what she was getting ready to admit, "I was really mad, Daniel. I mean, why does he do that?"

"It’s just the way he is, Sam."

"But we’re more than just a team, a unit. Sometimes, I forget what brought us all together. It’s like we’re friends first, then SG-1." Daniel nodded. "Anyway, it just made me mad that all these months, he’s been lying to us. So, I start thinking back, trying to remember all the excuses he gave for not being able to do stuff with us, and wondering if he was making stuff up so he could go be with her."

"You make it sound like he was cheating on us."

Sam wiped at a piece of chocolate that had dropped on her BDU’s, smearing it. "I know. It’s just – I wonder when he’s going to start trusting us with things like that."

"It’s not a matter of trust, Sam. Jack doesn’t think that way. It’s just – I think he closed himself off for so long, to survive some of the things he’s been through, that it comes natural to him now."

"Yeah, well," Sam looked over at her friend, who’d known Jack longer than any of them, "I told you it was stupid."

"Well, I’m no better."

"How’s that?"

"Despite the fact that she’s related to Catherine, I was all prepared to not like her. But she’s surprised me."

"Hmmm. Me, too." They sat quietly. "Daniel, I think we’re jealous."

He laughed at that. "I think you’re right." He reached into another pocket and pulled out a Baby Ruth.

Sam shook her head at the offer of another piece of candy. "It’s weird seeing him like that, huh? Like a–a," she couldn’t apply the word to her CO.

"Like what? A lover?" Daniel said it for her, although he smirked a little at the word. "He is a man, Sam."

"Really? I hadn’t noticed."

Daniel looked over at her, cocking one eyebrow and chewing on his candy bar. "You know what I find odd?" He didn’t wait for her answer. "The guy can be such an asshole, a perfect, raging, cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch, and then he turns around and does something like – I don’t know, Frosted Pop-Tarts. How can she stand that? I mean, wouldn’t that drive you a little crazy?"

Sam rested her chin on her arms, smiling softly. "Yeah, I guess." She looked towards the open doorway, wondering if she should check on them. "But I think it might be nice more than anything."

* * * * *

"Okay, okay. I can walk." Grace tried to pull her arms away from her captors. They were back inside a large building, moving down a long hallway. Behind her, she could hear the others dragging Jack, who hadn’t made a sound since being knocked to the ground 15 minutes ago. "Take your hands off me." But they didn’t. They merely tightened their grip on her arms, and silently led her to some unknown destination.

Grace was terrified. Thankfully, it wasn’t the paralyzing fear of earlier. This fear spurred her to fight. She had to find out how badly Jack was hurt. He was helpless, defenseless, and it was up to her handle this situation alone. She tried to get a good look at him, but her captors wouldn’t allow it. So, she studied them instead, trying to memorize their faces. She thought one of them might be the guard from the outer gate. It was hard to tell. They all had the strange, grey eyes; nondescript, shaggy hair; and like the King, their skin was cool and clammy. None of them spoke.

As they continued to march her down the twisting corridor, Grace tried to keep track of where they were going. She had to be able to find their way back out. But it was difficult. Most of the hallways looked the same, except for this last one, which had strange pictures lining the walls. Just ahead, someone stepped through a doorway: King Dorant. Grace felt her heart seize slightly in her chest, and her breath came faster. Oh, God, not him.

The guards shoved her towards him and she had to brace her hands against his chest to keep from falling against him. His slimy hands grabbed hers, and he smiled.

"Grace O’Neill." His voice clawed at her nerves, sending her fear up a notch. He sucked in a hissing breath through his teeth, and reached a hand toward her exposed face. She flinched away from his touch, and he jerked her hands, pulling her closer. She had to turn her face away from his stench as he lowered his face towards her. "I will have you."

"N–no." She fought against the hand which grabbed her jaw, bruising in its force.

The grey eyes stared at her from mere inches away. He smiled cruelly, and nodded his head. "Yes. He," the King nodded absently towards Jack, "will give you. Or you will grant it. But, you will be with me."

She couldn’t speak, her mouth was pressed tight against the sickening odor, and her jaws were being painfully squeezed. She shut her eyes and struggled to turn her face away from him. He held her firm, then looked over her shoulder at the others. "Take them below. Lock them up." He looked back at Grace. "I have arranged special accommodations for you, my dear." He smiled. Before she could fight him off, a long, pointed tongue shot out his mouth and Grace couldn’t stop the scream as he licked her face, his saliva leaving a slimy, sticky path across one cheek and over her forehead. King Dorant laughed as he shoved her into the arms of one of the waiting captors. "She has been marked," he announced.

Sobbing openly, Grace no longer fought as she was half dragged, half carried down a narrow staircase into what looked like a dungeon. Her jaw still aching from the King’s grip, his saliva still cold and wet across her face, she let herself go limp in her captors’ arms as they dragged her towards an open doorway and tossed her inside. Panic tightened her chest, cut off her air, until she saw them shove Jack in behind her and slam one of the few doors she’d seen inside the entire building. As a lock slid home, she crawled across the stone floor to where Jack lay crumpled.

Hands shaking, she rolled him onto his back. "Jack?" Her voice was trembling. "Jack, wake up." He didn’t move. Grace looked around at their cell. It was approximately 12 feet square, and the top third of the walls were open and covered with metal bars. It allowed air to circulate and admitted a dim, artificial light.

She turned back to Jack. Using the meager light, she attempted to check his pupils. It was hard to tell, but she thought they looked equal. She couldn’t check to see if they were responsive since she had no light to shine on them. She ran a hand around his head to the spot where she’d seen him take the blow. She could feel a small gash and there was quite a bit of blood, but the bone beneath the flesh felt intact. Gently, she eased his head onto her lap. "Sorry, Sam," she mumbled to herself as she gathered part of the skirt and pressed it to the back of Jack’s bleeding scalp. No use wasting the energy trying to rip the dress apart for bandages.

Shivering, cradling Jack, she leaned back against the cold, damp wall, remembering finally to wipe the sticky drool from her face. Then, she waited.

* * * * *

"Okay, so now what?"

"I don’t know." Carter was scared. They’d been looking for Grace and the Colonel for nearly two hours now. They hadn’t been able to raise them on the radio, and there was no sign of them in the garden, out in the street, or anywhere inside the building. Afraid to split up the remainder of the team, the three of them had prowled the hallways of the huge mansion, to no avail. They hadn’t even seen any of their hosts.

Returning to their quarters, Sam was hoping to find that her CO and his girlfriend had returned in their absence. She was praying that they had been enjoying a little lover’s tryst somewhere outside in some dark alley. Granted, she was going to be totally pissed if that’s what they’d been doing while she and Daniel and Teal’c had been frantically searching, but it was better than the alternative. Which is what they were greeted with when they returned. The two were still MIA.

While she and Daniel paced inside the room, Teal’c had grabbed a flashlight from his backpack and had gone back outside to look around again.

"Okay. Well, we can’t leave. And we have to make sure that they aren’t just–,"

"Major Carter!" Teal’c’s shout caused Sam’s pulse to race. Her first thought was, oh, God, he’s found them. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go outside.

"Sam, come on."

Reluctantly, she followed Daniel outside. Teal’c had his flashlight pointed to a spot on the ground just outside the edge of light from the open doorway.

"What is it?"

"Here." The large man knelt down and pointed to something.

She shrugged. "What? I don’t see anything."

"There was a struggle here. And," Teal’c’s voice didn’t change, yet Sam knew he was going to show her something she really didn’t want to see. He did. He swung the flashlight slightly to the right, revealing a dark spot on the otherwise pristine gravel path. Teal’c looked up at her. "Blood." He stood upright. "I am sorry. I should have detected these signs earlier."

"It’s not your fault, Teal’c." Sam’s mind was racing. So, now they were missing and at least one of them was injured. That changed everything. 

"Anybody else have a bad feeling about this?"

Sam looked over at Daniel, still considering her options. "Teal’c, can you follow these tracks?"

"Only to the street, which is paved. No further."

Okay. She had to think about what the Colonel would do. Whenever they found themselves in trouble, O’Neill always asked the same thing: What do we have, and what do we need? They had two missing team members, and they needed to find them. ‘Good one, Sam. Very helpful.’ She shook her head, worry for them messing with her concentration. Okay. What else might the Colonel do? Whenever they had difficulty deciding on a course of action, the Colonel always said: Pick a plan and stick with it. So, that’s what she’d do.

"Teal’c. How long do you think it would take you to get to the Stargate in the dark?"

The Jaffa took only seconds to respond. "Alone. Two hours."

Sam nodded. "Take three. You may have to sneak out of the city undetected, that is, if the guard is still at the gate. And, I don’t want you to risk injury trying to get there. Tell General Hammond what’s going on, and that we need back-up. Daniel and I will stay here. Keep searching until you get back."

Teal’c nodded. "I will return with assistance, Major Carter."

"I know you will, Teal’c. Be careful."

Tucking the flashlight into his jacket and picking up his staff weapon, he slipped noiselessly into the dark and disappeared.

"Come on, Daniel. Let’s get started."

* * * * *

"Oh, God." He came awake suddenly and grabbed his head, moaning softly.

"Jack," Grace’s voice was soft, but close, "try not to move."

So, of course, he did. Sparking another flash of pain through the back of his skull. "Damn." He eased back down, his hands over his eyes. He was lying on something hard, cool, a little damp, but his head was resting on something soft and warm. Someone’s hand rested on his chest, and eyes still closed, he clutched it in one of his own. "Grace? What happened?"

"Someone attacked us."

"What?" He struggled to sit up, panic and nausea vying for dominance. Briefly, the nausea won out, and he rolled over, vomiting painfully. Grace kept a comforting hand on his back until he was finished, and then helped him sit back against something solid. "Shit." He leaned his head back, grimacing as a sore spot touched the wall behind him.

"How do you feel?"

He opened his eyes, and groaned again. "Aagh." He had to press both hands on the floor to keep the room from spinning. He tried again. Grace, pale but beautiful, sat beside him, facing him. "Water?" He was thirsty and the inside of his mouth tasted like vomit. She shook her head. "S’okay." He patted her hand, then struggled to look around. "We were in the garden."

"You were struck from behind. Dorant’s men. They knocked you out and brought us here."

"Dorant?" Jack felt confused. Maybe it was the headache. He reached up and gently fingered the back of his head. It didn’t feel like a skull fracture, thank God – none of that icy, searing pain shooting across his scalp. This was just your regular throbbing head, dizziness, and nausea. Concussion.

"I think you have a concussion."

See, even the dog doctor agreed. "I don’t understand. Why would," Jack swallowed and closed his eyes against another wave of nausea. "What does Dorant want with us?"

"Me." Jack looked at her, and suddenly noticed the blood on her skirt. She must have seen him staring because she touched his arm, calming him. "It’s yours. I’m okay."

His whole arm trembling, he reached up and touched her face. Someone had grabbed her, he could see the unmistakable marks left by a thumb and fingers. "Dorant?" She nodded, and Jack felt rage surge through him, consuming him. Suddenly he remembered her answer to his earlier question. "What do you mean he wants you?"

"That’s what he told me."

"Son-of-a-bitch." He struggled to stand up, but she pulled him back.

"Jack, please, just rest. Don’t try to move yet."

He had no choice as his legs and his equilibrium failed him. He sank back down beside her, panting softly. "Tell me what you know." He shut his eyes, concentrating as she spoke.

"They took us out a gate at the back of the garden, and down some of the streets. It was all – confusing. I was fighting, and wasn’t paying much attention, but we turned a lot. Still, it felt like – I don’t know how to explain it. It felt like we went around in a big circle."

He looked over at her. "Around the block, maybe?"

"Maybe. We walked for maybe 10 minutes."

"So, it’s possible we’re in the same building we’ve been in all day."

She hesitated, considering it. "It’s possible. They brought us inside through a bunch of different hallways. Then, finally, down here to this – basement or whatever."

Jack was still struggling to concentrate, but was grateful she had been awake during their capture. It gave him at least an idea of where they might be. Hell, his team might be in the room right above them.

"Jack, there was something about one of the hallways that bugged me."

"What?"

She shook her head, obviously frustrated. "I’m not sure. There was something off about it. Something not right. But I can’t figure out what it was."

"Don’t dwell on it. Maybe it’ll come to you." He leaned his head back again, hoping he was right, because they could use whatever information they could get if they were going to get out of here alive. Taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the pounding in his head, Jack used the wall to push himself to his feet.

"What are you doing?" Grace grabbed his arm, helping him.

"Checking out the accommodations." Slowly, keeping one hand on the wall to support himself, Jack stumbled around the room, looking for anything that might help. Footholds or handholds to crawl up to the top of the wall; he even tugged on the door, making sure it was locked. There was nothing.

Finally, exhausted, the pain in his head growing from the effort of moving, he sank down to the floor in the corner opposite the door. Grace sat down beside him, and he pulled her to his chest, hugging her close.

"We should get some sleep."

"How can you think about sleeping?"

"Grace," shutting his eyes against the dizziness which still threatened to topple him, he lowered his face to her head, "we should rest while we can. We’re going to need our strength if we’re going to find a way out of here. And we _are_ going to get out of here." She was silent. "Did you hear me?"

"I know you’ll find a way, Jack." She was quiet for so long that he thought she was dozing. "Do you think the others are okay?"

"They’re fine. They can take care of themselves." He had to think that. The alternative was not an option. "Now, sleep."

It might have been the effects of the concussion, but despite the burning in his dry throat and the pounding in his head, Jack found himself dozing. Not a restful sleep, but one that hopefully would ease the pain. Grace was suspiciously limp in his arms and he suspected that despite her protests, exhaustion had won out and she was asleep. He felt himself slipping in and out, his dreams and reality melding until he wasn’t sure if he had dreamt he’d been hit or if he was sprawled across the alien sofa in the guest quarters.

Someone grabbing his ankle and yanking woke him. His head hit the floor, and he moaned out loud before he was awake and aware enough to prevent it. Grace gasped and sat up as Jack was ripped from her arms and dragged across the floor of their prison.

"Dammit! Let go!" He was trying to kick his legs free, struggling to get upright, but it was impossible with two aliens hauling him by his ankles. One hand slipped out from under him, and he fell back, hitting his aching head on the cold, stone floor again. "Aagh. Shit." He wanted to pass out, felt himself slipping back into the darkness.

"Jack!" Grace was scrambling after him, trying to grab onto his shoulders.

"No!" His vision swimming, Jack forced his arms up, over his head, trying to push her away. "Grace, stay back!" She had to stay out of this; he didn’t want their captors’ attention diverted to her. They had already pulled him to the doorway and were dragging him roughly across the jamb of the door. He saw Grace still coming and prayed that Dorant’s men would slam the door before she escaped their cell. They did, and despite his dread of where they were taking him, he felt a surge of relief.

Jack struggled to remain awake, to keep his head up off the rough floor, as he was dragged across an open area, past a long flight of wooden stairs leading up to a dim patch of light. When they passed through another doorway and entered a room similar to the one where he and Grace were being housed, his silent kidnappers dropped his feet and grabbed him by the arms, yanking him upright.

He bit back a moan of pain and swallowed bile. He wouldn’t let them see how much he was suffering. His legs were shaking and he wasn’t sure they’d support him, but it didn’t matter because the aliens forcefully shoved him up against the wall. While they held him there, another alien entered, carrying shackles and chains.

"Oh, God." This was just too – cliche. "Come on, guys. You’ve got to be kidding me."

They didn’t answer. As the new guy began securing manacles around his ankles, Jack struggled, kicking at him. One of the aliens holding his shoulders merely reached up and pressed Jack’s head back against the wall, hard. He couldn’t stop a gasp of pain from escaping as incredible pressure was applied to his already injured head. Fighting unconsciousness, Jack went limp long enough for his ankles to be secured to the wall.

The alien hands still holding his head and shoulders in place, Jack couldn’t manage more than an awkward flailing of his arms as manacles were clamped on his wrists. He felt pressure in his limbs, and suddenly the hands released him. He sagged, gasping, and found himself spread-eagled against the stone wall, held in place by the chains. Tugging on each of the restraints to assure themselves that Jack was adequately bound, the aliens filed out of the room.

Jack swallowed a dry lump in his throat. "Thanks, guys, but for future reference, all you gotta do is ask." After the last of them disappeared, he allowed himself a small moan before testing his bonds. Nope. He wasn’t going anywhere soon. He tried to relax his muscles, allowing the chains to bear his weight. It worked for a few minutes, then the metal began biting into his wrists, cutting off the flow of blood to his hands, and causing his shoulders to burn from the strain.

Head pounding, he stood upright, locking his knees. He thought he heard people talking somewhere nearby, but his ears were ringing from his head wound and he couldn’t make out the words; he couldn’t even tell if the voices were male or female. Suddenly, he noticed something warm and damp running down the back of his neck, beneath his collar, and he realized that the Head Banger Goon had reopened the gash on the back of his head. Soon after that, his ankles began tingling, and Jack had to work to remain standing as the shackles began pulling against stretched tendons. Sweating, panting slightly, Jack couldn’t stop a sudden wave of nausea, and he vomited again. He tried to spit the gory mess as far from himself as he could, but he still managed to get it on his shirt and shoes, and he could feel the caustic liquid dripping down his chin.

"Oh, yeah, nothin’ like re-run MRE." He coughed, trying to rid himself of the taste in his mouth. He tugged weakly against his restraints. "Aahh." His legs were trembling, and he could almost feel his right knee beginning to swell. Leaning his head back as far as he could so that the gash on his head wouldn’t touch the wall, he allowed himself to sag in his chains once more.

He wasn’t sure how long he hung there when the burning ache in his arms began. He ignored it at first; tried not to think about his fingers going numb, and how his wrists felt like they were strung up with piano wire. As the pain worked itself up to his elbows, and then to his shoulders, he found himself panting against it, squeezing his eyes shut.

This was stupid. They hadn’t even done anything to him yet, aside from a couple of bonks on the head, and he was already in more agony than he cared to admit. Guess he’d gone soft since Iraq. Of course, once you’ve had the best. . . . He chuckled softly, then winced, and once more forced his legs to take his weight.

Yeah, the knee was definitely swollen. It throbbed and threatened to collapse as he forced it to lock. It felt like his ankles were swelling, too, beneath the tight shackles. At least he still had his boots on, that ought to keep the swelling down a bit. Or maybe just sever his feet completely off. He had to smile at that because he always had tied his shoes too tight, even as a kid; still, it worried him enough that he lowered his head to peer down toward his feet. The movement set off another round of dizziness and as his head dropped to his chest, the odor of his own vomit made him want to hurl again. Breathing through his mouth, his tilted his head back, away from his own stench.

Hope the goons were leaving Grace alone. Hope the King could keep his alien paws to himself. Shit. At the thought, Jack raised his head, bumping the gash again. Double shit. What if that’s why he was alone here? What if they had tied him up so they could all go play? Immediately his heart began to race, and he fought the manacles with renewed energy.

"Hey!" He felt the shackle on his right wrist slice neatly through his skin, leaving a deep gouge on the flesh across the back of his hand. "King Tut! Get your ugly ass in here!" His voice echoed around the chamber, but there was no answering sound, at least nothing he could hear around the ringing noise inside his own head. Blood ran across his forearm, dripped off his elbow and gathered inside the sleeve of his shirt. Remembering the gap around the top of the walls, he tried again. "Grace!" Nothing. "Dammit, Grace, answer me!"

He knew it was futile and stupid and a waste of energy, but the thought of that creep touching her sent him into a frenzy. Jack launched a maniacal attack on the unforgiving chains. He bite back a groan as his right knee popped loudly, and the pain flared, but he continued to fight. He wasn’t sure how long he lasted before his energy and the pain won out. Sweat, blood and the remnants of his own vomit dripping off him, he sagged half-conscious into the chains that held him upright.

* * * * *

Grace moaned, tears welling up and spilling over, snot dripping from the tip of her nose. She was helpless to wipe either off. Sobbing soundlessly, she leaned into the corner of the wall where Jack had sat earlier and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shut out the sounds drifting over the top of the wall and into her prison.

After the aliens had dragged Jack out of the room and slammed the door, she had listened as they had continued dragging him and he had fought them. They stopped somewhere close because she heard the sound of metal clanking, heard Jack mumble something about the aliens kidding him, and then the sounds of a struggle. Grace had pressed her head to the stone wall, straining to hear something, anything, during a long, drawn-out silence. Finally, she was rewarded with the sound of Jack’s snide voice.

"Thanks, guys, but for future reference, all you gotta do is ask."

Silence again. Grace had opened her mouth to shout to him, when someone opened the door of her cell, and she turned to find herself faced with King Dorant and two of his men.

"What do you want?" The alien seemed oblivious to the venom in her voice, as he approached her, smiling.

"You know what I want. There is no need to restate it." Although his words were normal, his voice once again brought goosebumps to Grace’s skin.

As Grace pressed herself into the corner, he paced back and forth in front of her. At odd times, he would pause in his pacing to stare at her, looking in particular at her mouth and running his eyes down the front of her dress. Grace hid her trembling hands behind her back.

"Let us go."

Dorant smiled, and that strange, snake-like tongue flicked out as if tasting the very air around her. He inhaled deeply and shut his eyes as if savoring something. Then he looked at her. "No."

From his cell across from hers, Grace heard the unmistakable sounds of Jack retching and coughing, and she wanted to cry, wanted to scream. Instead, she straightened her spine and glared at the creature in front of her. "Let us go. Now."

Dorant merely laughed softly, looking over at his men as he did so. "Is she not delectable? Taste her." The men stared at the King. "I said, taste her!"

The men moved forward and Grace gasped, trying to meld with the wall in an attempt to escape them, but the men merely stopped next to the King and, like him, flicked their obscene tongues into the air and sniffed.

"Well?"

The men looked at the King, but only one of them spoke, using the same high-pitched squeal as the King himself. "She will make a fine addition, my Lord."

"Addition?" The King managed to look appalled. He reached out and touched Grace’s hair, her cheek, before she could get away from him. "I have marked her. She will replace the others." The two lackeys stepped back to their places, and the King once again concentrated his attention on Grace. "Have you decided? Will you grant yourself to me, or must _he_ give you?"

Grace couldn’t speak, so she spit. She actually spit like some damned heroine out of a stupid romance novel. She spit in the King’s face. But, it was a good spit. She watched, a little frightened of what his reaction might be, as a large drop of saliva landed near a lifeless, grey eye and rolled down his cheek. He smiled at her, then reached up a hand that she knew for a fact was cold and clammy, and wiped the droplet off with his finger. He stared at his fingertip a moment and then put the finger in his mouth. Grace felt a quiver of fear in her gut as Dorant sucked the saliva from his finger like it was a delicacy.

Finally, he smacked his lips and ran his tongue across the outside of his mouth. His grey eyes widened and he smiled slightly. "Delicious." Grace pressed a hand to her stomach. "Since you have not granted it to me, I will – negotiate with your mate."

Suddenly, Grace was aware of Jack yelling. "Hey! King Tut! Get your ugly ass in here!"

If she hadn’t been terrified, if she weren’t on the verge of puking or passing out, it would have been funny. She’d known Jack was a smart-ass, but she’d had no idea he could carry it off under the most dire of circumstances.

The King moved towards the door. "Bind her hands and silence her."

"Grace! Dammit, Grace, answer me!"

But it was too late. Before she could scream out to him that she was here, that she was okay, the aliens had her and were strapping something around her wrists and over her mouth. As she struggled against them, she could hear the sound of Jack’s own, matching struggles from the nearby cell.

* * * * *

They’d now been searching for hours. She and Daniel had teamed up and were going through the buildings one by one. Honest to God, she didn’t know how else to handle it. The problem was, there were hundreds of buildings, and the Colonel and Grace could be in any one of them. Or none of them. Stepping back out onto the street, Sam watched as Daniel scraped a mark into the wall of the building with his knife. They’d decided early on that they had to make sure they weren’t wasting time re-searching the same buildings. Besides, they had yet to meet a single citizen to protest their vandalism. That fact frightened Sam almost as much as that single circle of blood on the pathway.

Sam looked up at the sky. She could see the sun’s rays beginning to peek over the ridge. She shut off her flashlight. It was still dark, but light enough to see where they were walking. She glanced at her watch. 0540.

"Teal’c should be there by now." He said it out loud. Although it might have been a mistake, they’d quit worrying about being silent over two hours ago when they’d decided they were probably alone here.

Sam glanced over at him. "Yeah." He looked as tired and worried as she felt. She knew they should stop, eat, rest, but the thought that the two missing, maybe injured people could be in the next building kept them going. Please, God, let them be in one of the buildings. At least let them be here on this planet somewhere, not hauled through the gate or taken up in some vessel. That’s all she asked.

She wondered which one was hurt. Of course, knowing the Colonel, it could have been Malteshian blood. But she doubted that. If he’d had an opportunity to fight, she was sure they would have heard it. Besides, she also had a feeling that where Grace’s safety was concerned, the Colonel could take down a whole horde of aliens given half a chance, which would mean they wouldn’t be missing in the first place.

"There wasn’t much blood. Not really."

Funny how she and Daniel sometimes seemed to read each other’s thoughts.

"I think it was Jack’s."

She wondered if Daniel had his own reasons for thinking that, or if he’d come to that conclusion by the same route she had. "Why do you say that?"

"Think about it, Sam. They would have had to take him out first. Grace they could deal with, but not Jack."

"Or, they could have taken them both down. They could have just knocked the Colonel out. That could still be Grace’s blood, Daniel." She saw him look at her, studying her face. "What?"

"You sound like you want it to be Grace’s blood. Not Jack’s."

"Daniel–," she started to protest, then stopped. Because he was right, but not for the reason he thought. "I like Grace, I really do. I don’t want her to be hurt. I don’t want either one of them to be hurt. But odds are one of them _is_ , and if we have to count on one of them being able to get them out of this, who stands the better chance?"

* * * * *

Jack awoke to the sound of footsteps and the feel of a cold hand on his chin, forcing his aching head up. He opened his eyes to dull, lifeless grey. He licked his lips and cleared his scratchy throat.

"You should try a little Visine. Might clear that right up."

King Dorant smiled. "You will give me Grace O’Neill."

"Not much for small talk, are you?" Jack was stalling, trying to clear his head and force himself to his full height. His right knee was feeling decidedly out of commission, forcing him to double his efforts, but at least the ringing in his ears was gone.

"You will give her, yes?"

"Uh – no." Jack smiled, forced a small chuckle despite wanting to strangle this creature from the Black Lagoon. "Never gonna happen."

"Oh," the King’s hand dropped to the neck of Jack’s shirt, "but it will." He ripped the shirt open, revealing the black t-shirt. Smirking up at his prisoner, Dorant yanked the t-shirt up, exposing Jack’s chest. Then, he stepped back, studying his captive. "You humans are – frail, weak creatures. Yes?"

Jack glared at him. "Cut me loose, nimrod, and you can find out for yourself." Dorant didn’t respond. "Besides, if I’m so frail, how come you’ve got me trussed up like momma’s Christmas goose?"

Using a finger, the King delicately spread open the loose ends of Jack’s shirt, and ran a hand across his bare chest, along his ribcage and over his abdomen. Frowning slightly, his hand came back to rest on Jack’s right side. He pressed lightly with the palm of his hand. "Come, come. We are both gentlemen, noblemen – leaders of our people."

Jack refused to wince as he felt the pressure on his ribs building behind Dorant’s touch. "Could have fooled me, King Dickhead." The pressure increased.

"My people do not _take_ the mates of others. It is," the alien’s nose twitched slightly as if he detected something unpleasant, "distasteful and crude. We negotiate for what we desire."

"Oh, yeah," Jack was having difficulty drawing breath, "this is – so much – more refined." He could swear he heard his ribs groaning as the King leaned his weight into that one hand, that long-fingered, claw-like hand that was digging its way through his right side. Jack blinked; other than his shallow breathing, it was the only outward sign of his discomfort.

"You will give her, or she will grant herself to me." Dorant’s words were soft, an almost seductive whisper against Jack’s cheek.

Jack bit his lip and stared back at him.

Dorant tilted his head as if listening, then looked at Jack. "She is quiet, your Grace, is she not?"

Yeah, Jack would have to agree with that, but he couldn’t worry about that right now, not if he wanted to get through this little man-to-man talk with more than his pride intact.

Dorant frowned. "Why is she silent, Jack O’Neill?" He leaned close, increasing the pressure as he did so. He was near enough that Jack could smell his rotten breath and see the tip of what looked like a pointed worm inside the alien’s mouth. The thought that his torturer might have a Goa’uld coming out of his throat, that it might be looking at him, almost caused Jack to lose it, so he blinked again and looked at a spot over the alien’s shoulder.

"Grace!" The alien’s loud screech into his ear startled him. Dorant waited as if he truly expected a response. "She does not answer, Jack O’Neill. Perhaps your mate has injured herself. Perhaps I should send one of my men to check on her. Would you like that?" When he received no response, Dorant pressed harder against the brittle rib cage and lowered his obscene voice. "Or, perhaps she has already given herself to me."

Keep them talking, and they always screw up eventually. It was a rule of life. Jack forced a grim smile on his face. "You – wouldn’t be – here – if that – were true."

It was Dorant’s turn to blink. The lashless, vacant eyes closed briefly, then opened with an almost serene look. Before Jack could anticipate what was happening, Dorant grunted softly and the hand on his ribs shot forward with incredible force. Jack couldn’t stop the strangled groan as he heard and felt ribs snapping under the pressure. He shut his eyes, gasping for breath and was rewarded with nothing but pain. He changed to swift, shallow breaths, but with his body stretched out, there was no way to ease the agony that came with trying to take in air. By the time he was able to force his eyes open, Dorant was across the room and motioning to two of his grey-eyed freaks. The King gave him a final, almost sorrowful glance.

"Negotiate with him. But do not kill him." He started to leave, then stopped. "When you are done, take him back to his mate. Let us see if she still wants him."

* * * * *

When the door opened, Grace was still sobbing in the corner like a scared rabbit. A single alien entered carrying a pitcher and a small bowl, which he placed on the floor near Grace. Long fingers reached for her, and she tried to squirm away, but tied up, gagged, her efforts were merely pathetic.

"Sshh." The creature looked over its shoulder, then back at her. Grace stared at him; his grey eyes seemed different from the other aliens’ she’d seen – less cold, almost human despite their strangeness. "Listen to me," the voice, while still grating, was so quiet she had to strain to hear over her own labored breathing. "They will not hurt you. It is not allowed." The alien reached for her and she flinched. "I am merely going to release your hands. Do not be afraid."

Panting, Grace nodded to let him know she understood, but she couldn’t help the tremor that ran through her when he leaned close and untied her hands. She brought her arms around in front of her, rubbing at her wrists and numb fingers before finally reaching up to remove the gag.

"You are called Grace. Yes?" He smiled.

She nodded. "Jack? Where is he?"

Once more the alien looked over his shoulder. "They bring him now. I have brought you water and food. Remember, you have been marked by the King. You cannot be harmed." He started to stand up and leave.

"Who – who are you?"

"I am called Uhran." He bowed slightly, almost regally, then stepped aside as two other aliens dragged Jack’s limp body into the room and unceremoniously dropped him to the floor. The door had not closed behind her captors before Grace was kneeling beside him.

"Jack?"

He was curled up on his left side, but at the sound of her voice he groaned and rolled to his back. "Oh, shit. Crap." He raised his head as if to sit up, then dropped it back down to the floor. "Holy crap." He wrapped his arms around his chest, and grimaced in pain, as he struggled to get his breathing under control.

She ran a hand along his face. This was all her fault. "Jack, what did they do to you?" It was a rhetorical question; the signs of a beating were unmistakable. The entire left side of his face was mangled: the eye was swollen nearly shut, bruises were already darkening his skin, and there was a large, deep gash along the cheekbone and a smaller one near the corner of his mouth. The aliens had beat him because of her. Because Dorant had decided he wanted her. Because she wouldn’t give in to him. _This_ was the King’s idea of negotiating? No wonder the team had gotten nowhere in its quest for naquadria. At Jack’s weak cough, Grace felt sobs building within her chest.

"Grace? Did they hurt you?" He sounded breathless, weak. "Did that – bastard touch you?"

"I’m fine, Jack. They didn’t hurt me. But you–,"

He grabbed at her, squeezing her hand. She could feel the tremors wracking his body. "God, I thought he’d–," but he let the words die on another gasp for breath.

"We have water." She pulled her hand away and retrieved the pitcher. "Can you sit up?" He nodded, but he wasn’t able to raise himself up on his elbows. She set the pitcher on the floor, and slipped an arm behind him, raising him gently.

"Aagh." He moaned and clutched at his chest again.

"Jack?"

"Fi–fine. I’m fine." He tried to smile reassuringly, but the effect was sad and a little gruesome.

Smiling back at him, wanting to cry, Grace held him with one arm and lifted the pitcher to his mouth with her other hand, helping him drink. "Just a sip. Not too fast." When he was done, she lowered him to the floor and sat the pitcher to one side. His eyes closed and his arms moved to support his chest once more. She tried to open his shirt, and he flinched.

"Jack, I just need to check you. Okay?" He nodded without opening his eyes. "I’m going to open your shirt. Take a look at your ribs." She grasped his wrists to moved his arms out of the way, and he jerked, moaning softly. "What?" Eyes still closed, he didn’t answer. She unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves and pulled them up. "Oh, God. Jack, I’m sorry." Seeing the raw flesh and the bloody gash on his wrists, she realized how her touch had hurt him and how much her fear of Dorant was costing him.

She glanced up at his face. She could tell he wasn’t really sleeping so much as drifting in and out of consciousness. He would still be suffering the effects of the concussion on top of his other, newer injuries. What worried her most, however, was the way he kept protecting his chest even while half conscious, and the fact that his face remained scrunched up in pain. Grace took a deep breath. She had to stay calm here; she owed him at least that much.

"Okay, I’m opening your shirt." She pulled open the vomit-splattered shirt and gently raised the t-shirt. Nothing immediately caught her attention, although after looking more closely, she could see the faint outline of bruising on the right side along his lower ribs. She didn’t know if he could hear her, but she kept talking anyway. It soothed animals, why not him? Besides, it helped to keep her mind focused.

"I’m going to touch you now, Jack. I’ll try to be easy. Okay?" Watching his face, Grace slid her hands over his chest and abdomen, feeling for any abnormalities. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she felt a shifting of the bones on the right side, beneath the bruising, and Jack’s eyes opened and he cried out when she touched him there.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry."

He shut his eyes. "Hurts."

"I know, sweetie. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Promise." She worked her way over his arms. The wrists seemed to be the only injuries. Then she moved to his legs. Running her hands down his legs, she could tell that his right knee was terribly swollen and it felt – odd, dislocated maybe. She wasn’t sure, and it wasn’t worth the effort to remove his trousers to take a closer look since she didn’t think she had the skill needed to reduce the joint anyway. His ankles felt slightly swollen, too, and Grace wondered what they’d done to him, but she knew that if she removed his boots for a closer look, she’d never get them back on him.

Finished with her exam, she sat back and finally took a small drink of water for herself. It was oily and had a strange aftertaste, but she drank it anyway. Okay. Step one: Stop any bleeding. Working methodically, quietly explaining to him exactly what she was doing, Grace tore strips from her skirt. Then, using the water, praying it wasn’t loaded with alien bacteria but knowing she had no choice, she removed Jack’s watch and wiped the blood from his wrists, wrapping them with the makeshift, blue satin bandages. Next, she checked the head wound. It had stopped bleeding, so she left it alone and moved on to his face. Not much she could do there except clean the cuts on his cheekbone and mouth. That left the ribs and the knee. Grace stared at the outline of his swollen knee. About the only thing that would help was a splint or ice, and she had neither of those. That left the ribs.

Grace knew that doctors were no longer wrapping ribs, binding them hindered deep breathing and helped lead to pneumonia. Unfortunately, she didn’t think Jack was going to be partaking in deep breathing any time soon, at least not until he had access to painkillers. Under the circumstances, Grace thought wrapping the ribs might at least give him a little relief.

Deep in thought, Grace studied his face. Despite her manhandling and her running monologue, Jack had remained unresponsive, only moaning a little as she’d worked on his wrists. For his ribs, she was going to need his help. She hated to wake him and considered waiting until he woke on his own, but it worried her that he hadn’t come around. It could be a sign that the concussion was worse than she’d thought.

God, she couldn’t believe this mess was all her fault. Biting her lip, she touched his face. "Jack?" Nothing. "Jack?" A little louder this time, causing his eyes to flutter slightly. She patted his cheek, making sure to stay away from the bruising. "Come on. Wake up for me, flyboy."

"Unh." He turned his head, trying to escape her touch.

"Don’t ‘unh’ me, Jack O’Neill. It’s time to get up."

"Go away." He swatted at her hand, then grimaced and held his ribs. The pain finally roused him, and he looked up at her. It took a second for his eyes to clear, to focus on her. "Grace? Where–," he raised his head to look around, then groaned and laid it back on the floor. "I was hoping – it was a – bad dream."

"Yeah, well, I’ll vote for that." She forced a smile. "I need to wrap your ribs."

He shook his head stubbornly. "No. It’ll hurt."

"Oh, come on." Despite the circumstances, she laughed a little and brushed a hand across his face. "I can’t believe what a chicken you are."

"Good thing – you’re – a vet then. Not a – people doctor." He grunted and flinched, his hand tightening over his ribs.

"Jack? You okay?"

He frowned, but nodded. "Broken."

Grace nodded. "Yeah. Come on. We need to wrap them."

"Okay, but I – better not – get a bill – for this." She slid an arm behind him, trying to take most of his weight, but still he groaned miserably at the movement, and sat hunched over and panting from the pain. "Doc is gonna – be pissed if – she finds out – I let a – veterinarian work on me."

"Then, we won’t tell her. Now, let’s get rid of this shirt." She began easing the garment off his shoulders.

"You – coming – on to me?"

"Yes, Jack. I’m coming on to you." Grimacing at the odor of vomit, Grace removed the shirt as gently as possible and tossed it in the far corner. She gathered up the strips she’d torn earlier and began tying them together. Jack’s ragged breathing seemed to fill the room, so she spoke to cover the sound of it. "I’m going to throw you to the floor, and make mad, passionate love to you."

He glanced at the strips of cloth. "Hope you’re not – planning – to tie me up. Gotta tell you – had enough – of that."

She knew he was kidding, but still guilt flooded through her, and not knowing what to say, Grace merely put her arms around him and began wrapping the cloth around his chest, pulling it snug.

"God." Jack squeezed his eyes shut, and grabbed her shoulder to stay upright. "What the hell – you trying – to do to me?"

If the circumstances had been different, she would have smiled at his protests. She’d suffered through a cold with him a few months ago, and he had been the biggest baby she’d ever seen. Even Randy had avoided him. Obviously, being a colonel in the service of your country didn’t preclude you from whining like a 10-year old kid. The difference was, this time, he really was in agony. Grace forced a light tone in your voice. "No whining."

"I don’t–," he gasped as she pulled the strip tight and began tying it off. "Grace," his voice was a whisper, "stop."

"Almost done, Jack."

"No. I–," she saw him start to sag, and reached out to grab his shoulders.

"Jack? Stay with me." She began easing him back to the floor. His eyes were open but glazed, and his face had gone pale. "You hear me, Jack?" Her voice was trembling. If he died and left her here, swear to God, she’d kill him. "Dammit. Please, don’t do this." She was crying again.

Jack blinked, and looked at her. His mouth turned up at the corners. "No crying – allowed, soldier."

Grace leaned over and rested her forehead against his shoulder. Despite his words, she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to be here; had never wanted to be here. Of all the things she’d imagined might happen if she went through with this damnable mission, trying to patch up this man she loved using a dirty, filthy dress and nasty, pseudo-water wasn’t one of them. Being the object of a crazy alien’s obsession wasn’t one of them. She just wanted them out of this. She wanted them rescued. Now. She wanted Sam and Daniel and Teal’c to rush through the door, and tell her that the ugly King and Queen were dead. Buried. A bad dream. She just wanted a way out of this.

"Grace." She felt a trembling hand touch her hair. Jack had promised they would find a way out of this. He promised that they would get home. He promised. "Please – don’t cry."

She raised her head to look at him. How could he comfort her? How could he let this happen? "Jack, I’m sorry."

The same shaky hand wiped at the tears streaming down her face. "It’s okay."

"This is all my fault."

"What?" He looked genuinely shocked.

"It’s me he wants. If I just–,"

"Dammit!" Jack struggled to sit up, but couldn’t. "Grace, don’t even–," he grabbed her wrist with a strength that surprised her. "If you – so much as – think of –," he tightened his grip and Grace thought she saw tears in his eyes. "I’ll kill you – myself before – I let him–," he ran out of breath and fell back, releasing her arm. "Promise me – you won’t."

"Jack. . . ." She stared down at him; even hurt and weak, his resolve was impenetrable. It shamed her to compare it to the sheer hopelessness that was eating at her, but she couldn’t help it. If they somehow managed to get free, Grace was pretty sure that she could find her way from the outer wall to the Stargate, but finding her way from this building to the outer wall was another matter entirely. It was too much to contemplate, and the part of her that was rational knew that in the end it didn’t matter anyway, because as much as she didn’t want to admit it, Jack was badly hurt. If they were to walk out right now, she still wasn’t sure she could get him to the Stargate in time to get the help he needed. He could be bleeding internally as she sat here watching. As it was, at least one of his lungs was compromised. The sound of his breathing told her that. Besides, there was no way Dorant would let them just leave. Well, there was one way. Maybe. By saying ‘yes.’ A simple word. One syllable; three little letters. Nothing to it. Then she thought about what that word might possibly mean, and she shivered, ashamed again because she knew she couldn’t do it. Not even for Jack.

"Swear it!" He hissed at her, his eyes brimming with love and hate and pain.

"I–I swear I won’t." Grace trembled, with gratitude and with shame. Because even though he was hurt, she wanted Jack to save her; she wanted him to offer her a way out; and he did. But at what cost to himself?

Jack’s eyes closed again, and he brought his breathing back under control. He patted her hand. "It’ll be – okay. I’ll – get you home."

And she knew he would. One way or the other. Dead or alive.

* * * * *

"How long?"

Sam rubbed her eyes, then looked at her watch. "A little over 10 hours." She sighed and leaning up against the wall, watched as Daniel peered into each room off the hallway. She spoke louder as he got farther away. "Teal’c should be back. I’ll try him again when we get outside."

Daniel disappeared into a room, but his voice carried back to her. "So do you think it’s the naquadria?" He was referring to the fact that they’d been unable to raise Teal’c on the two-way.

"Probably." God, she hoped so. She hoped it wasn’t because something had happened to him. Please, let it be the mineral blocking their signals. "The sensors are still picking it up."

Daniel stuck his head around the corner of the doorway and looked at her. "Not to sound like Jack here, but we’re not going to start glowing in the dark are we? I mean, we have been here a while."

She smiled, too tired to laugh. "No, Daniel. We’ll be fine. No glowing. And, yes, that did sound like him." They stared at each other a moment, then Daniel blinked and disappeared back into the room. Sam studied her boots. She was exhausted, and hated the fact that she was beginning to wear her emotions on her sleeve. She was just so tired. Tired and frustrated. They both were. And scared.

She pushed herself away from the wall and glanced at her watch again. Still 1010\. Okay, when they finished this block, they’d head back towards the gate. Maybe if they got outside the city, away from the source of the naquadria, she’d be able to reach Teal’c. Please, please, let her contact him. Because if she didn’t, she knew that soon she was going to have to make a command decision she’d never thought she’d make; she was going to have to do the one thing that her CO had always sworn he would never do, the one thing he’d drilled into them not to do to each other: she was going to have to leave him behind. And it didn’t matter that it would be temporary, that it was just until she could bring back help. It didn’t make a damned bit of difference.

"Ohmigod."

He said it calmly, but Sam literally ran down the hallway and into the room. "Daniel?"

He was standing by a table near the window, holding a sheet of paper in his hand. He looked over at her, his face drained of color.

"Daniel, what is it? What’s wrong?"

"Sam, look at this."

She crossed the room and took the paper from him, holding it up to the light. It was a child’s drawing of what was probably a family - two adults and two children standing in front of a building that looked remarkably like the one they were in. Off to one side, a small cow-like creature was smiling at her.

"Do you see it?"

"Yeah. Weird. We haven’t seen any animals since we’ve been here. Well, other than the Colonel’s banshee bird anyway."

"No. The eyes. Look at them."

She did. There was nothing unusual about them. Just normal, ordinary, every day – "Oh my God. Daniel–,"

"Sam, they’re human."

* * * * *

The pain woke him; pain and a strange rattling noise. He was laying on the floor, on his left side, curled up with his arms cradling his chest. The floor was cold and hard, and he hurt. Bad. He rolled slowly onto his back, and gasped. Very bad. Very bad idea. He struggled back onto his side, but the damage was done. Agony flared and wrapped itself around the entire right side of his body. Even his leg wasn’t immune as the grotesquely misshapen knee throbbed with every beat of his pulse. He suddenly realized the rasping sound he’d been hearing was himself breathing.

Grace was asleep, laying in a similar position facing him, just a few feet away. Her face looked strangely peaceful considering their surroundings. Quietly, trying not to disturb her, Jack forced himself up on his left elbow, then using his other hand, he pushed with everything he had, which wasn’t much. Grunting, he was soon sitting, albeit dizzy and leaning precariously against the wall.

"God." He sucked thin air into his burning lungs. He could really use a drink of water but the pitcher was about a mile and a half away, sitting just beyond his reach. He decided he could wait. Besides, with no aspirin to wash down, the relief would be minimal.

Jack sat there, shivering, watching Grace sleep and wondering how the hell they were going to get out of this mess. Although he had every faith in his team, realistically they should have been here hours ago. He was concerned that the golden hour of rescue had long since passed. He looked down at his wrist, for the first time noticing the blue bandages and his missing watch. Grace must have removed it when she was doctoring him. For all the good it would do, he suddenly wished he knew what time it was. That one little fact seemed important.

Tucked away in this pit, without the benefit of natural light, it was impossible to tell whether it was day or night, but his internal clock told him that they had been here several hours, if not an entire day. God, he could use an aspirin. Or maybe just a bullet to the brain. Guess he’d come full circle; it wasn’t that many years ago that he’d contemplated eating a bullet, and here he was hankering for one again. He snorted at his own joke, even if it wasn’t very funny.

Grace moaned softly, her hands clenching into small, white fists. Grimacing, one arm holding his ribs, Jack watched her. No, if he had one bullet, he sure as hell wouldn’t eat it, tempting as it might sound. To do that would mean leaving Grace alone here to deal with Jimmy Durante of the alien underworld. No way in hell was that going to happen. Not if he could help it. Yeah, he’d give anything for a bullet all right – a single, well-placed projectile. Maybe through the temple, right to left; or under the chin, angled up and towards the back of the head; or better yet, maybe between a pair of cold grey eyes, just so he could see it coming.

Wonder what time it was.

Jack looked at the water pitcher and licked his lips. Maybe he could reach it after all. Taking a few shallow, preparatory breaths, Jack concentrated on shifting his weight. Oh, shit. Dammit! He clutched his side as pain shot through him. His chest felt like he’d swallowed a knife or maybe just a flaming torch, a really big, pointy one. In comparison, his knee wasn’t that bad. It just seemed to have been removed and screwed on backwards. His head was pretty good, though – except for the fact that while he’d been sleeping someone had shoved a damned Goa’uld through the lump on the back of his head, and the damned thing was now trying to come out his right eye.

Yeah, overall, he felt much better than he had just, what, seconds ago? Obviously, getting better by the minute. Not nearly as confused. In fact, if he concentrated, he could probably remember what the hell had brought them here to begin with. And maybe his name. Yeah, his name would be nice. He chuckled; he was a regular comedian today. Today? Tonight? God, what time was it? Jack coughed, then coughed again, until his laughter died away in a desperate choking fit.

"Jack?" Grace was suddenly sitting in front of him, her pale face drawn and worried. "What’s wrong?"

Hunched over, braced against the cold, damp wall, Jack gasped. "Grace, swear to me – you won’t do it."

Still tired, half-asleep, she stared at him. "Here," she reached for the pitcher, and held it to his lips.

Outside their door, Jack heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Thirsty as he was, even knowing that he might not get another chance to drink, ever, he pushed her hands away. "I can hang on – Grace. Please, I can – if you – promise."

She lowered her eyes, then looked back up at him. "I told you, I swear it."

The footsteps paused outside the door. He could hear a key turning in the lock. "You – mean it?"

"Yes. I promise."

The door opened and as the aliens entered their cell, Jack smiled at her. At least this time they didn’t plan on dragging him out feet first. Although, at the pain shooting through his chest when they grabbed his arms and pulled him to his feet, he wasn’t sure that feet first wouldn’t have been preferable.

"Please." Grace didn’t try to follow, but sat on the floor in a heap. "Please, don’t hurt him."

Jack held the smile, despite the pain and a distinct lack of air. "Piece – of cake."

They hauled him out of the cell. He was moving up in the world: this time, the chains and the King awaited him. Jack didn’t fight as they secured his shackles. There was no point. It was a battle he couldn’t win, and while he normally wouldn’t have let that stop him, there was too much at stake here. It would only weaken him further, and Grace was counting on him.

"Did you enjoy your respite?" When Jack didn’t answer, Dorant moved closer, studying him as the others finished chaining him to the wall then stepped back to stand in the doorway. "Are you unwell, Colonel O’Neill?" Dorant smiled politely.

Jack struggled to stay on his feet in an effort to reduce the strain of his outstretched arms tugging at his chest muscles. "Little headache – bit of a chest – cold. Other than that – I’m good."

"You are fine. Yes." Something caught Dorant’s eye and he stepped closer. "I can see that." He reached out a hand and fingered the bandage around one of Jack’s wrists. He smiled and looked over at his captive. "A gift from your mate? How charming."

Dorant’s tongue flicked out and Jack shuddered as it touched the skin on his arm. "You carry her scent." Dorant nodded at one of his men, who stepped forward and yanked the bandages from Jack’s wrists, ignoring his hiss of pain.

Dorant tilted his head and the tongue flicked out again. He stood directly in front of Jack. The King smiled, then opened his mouth slightly and the snake-like tongue undulated towards his face. Jack gasped and tried to move away, but the slimy organ touched his wounded cheek, and hot, putrid breath filled his nostrils. Dorant chuckled and took a step back.

"He wears more of her garment. Remove it."

The silent henchman produced a knife and gripping the hem of Jack’s t-shirt, sliced upwards, ripping through the shirt and the underlying bandages. The sudden loss of support on his ribs stole Jack’s breath and he groaned, sucking down air in small, painful swallows. Before he could recover, all traces of the shirt and bandages had been removed.

For reasons he couldn’t explain, Jack felt suddenly vulnerable, a feeling he recognized from his months as a POW in Iraq. Rationally, he knew that a thin layer of cotton was no protection, but its absence was terrifying, laying waste to the last barrier between him and his captor. Perhaps these aliens were not that different from humans after all. Perhaps they, too, saw the value to be had in nakedness, exposure. Or, perhaps, the good King really was trying to rid Jack of Grace’s scent. Jack breathed through his nose, trying to find that sweet, subtle hint of lilacs, but all he got was the smell of Dorant – an overwhelming scent like rotted flesh that burned his nostrils and settled in the back of his throat. He coughed and swallowed bile.

"That is better, is it not?" Dorant approached once more and leaned almost casually against the wall near Jack’s right shoulder. His clammy hand touched the sensitive skin over the broken ribs, and with one finger he traced circles across Jack’s flesh. "So, where were we? Oh, yes, my offer. Did you discuss the merits of it with our Grace? I can offer her many things."

"You could use – a breath mint." Jack’s brain felt fried. His senses were overloading from the closeness of this freakish beast. He realized that at some point during his visit here, he’d come to the conclusion that the aliens’ eyes were their best feature.

"Wealth, power–,"

"Some Scope maybe."

"–security–,"

"Insanity, mayhem – chaos." Carter? Teal’c? Come on, guys. Daniel, I could really use your help here.

Dorant poked almost delicately at a single, broken rib, and pain like fire shot through Jack’s torso. "I promise to care for her as if she were my own beloved sibling."

Jack frowned over at Dorant. What the hell? "Screw you, butt breath."

"Is that a yes?"

Jack opened his mouth to repeat it, then realized that the alien really might not know. He couldn’t afford mistakes. Grace couldn’t afford them. "No. That is definitely _not_ a yes."

Dorant sighed heavily. "I grow weary of this, Colonel." An alien hand ran across Jack’s forehead, along his cheek, then grasped his chin. His head was held in a firm grip as Dorant drew closer; so close that he could feel the puff of alien exhalations on his own mouth as the King whispered. "I tasted her, you know. Did she tell you?"

Jack wanted to respond; he did. He wanted to scream and battle this creature to the death. Instead, he squeezed his mouth closed and glared into the dead, grey eyes.

Dorant licked his lips. "I tasted her desire." Jack couldn’t look away, couldn’t turn his head; he was aware of Dorant’s other hand brushing lightly, almost seductively, across his chest. "I marked her. Do you know what that means?"

Jack shut his eyes, tried to block out the words, the smells. Box it up. Tuck it away. It would do him no good. Not yet. Not until he was free.

A hand slammed into his ribs, and he cried out. "I said, do you know that means?" Dorant didn’t wait for a reply. "It means she is mine." Jack moaned in response. "No one else may have her. Not even you." The King pushed himself away from the wall and sauntered across the room. "It means that even if you refuse to give her to me, even if Grace herself denies me, then I have no choice." He studied a long, jagged fingernail. "I shall have to kill her."

Jack staggered, trying to stay on his feet, his face screwed up in pain. God, he could swear he’d felt a jagged, broken bone puncture – something. His vision wavered, and he was suddenly aware of how cold the wall was against his bare back. "You bastard."

"Hmmm." Dorant appeared to consider it, then smiled over at his men. "Possibly." He walked out the door, and his men followed.

The minute they were gone, Jack gave in to the pain. He sagged in the shackles. "Aagh." With his weight hanging by his wrists, every muscle on his chest came alive with agony. Grasping the chains in his hands as best as he could, he weakly pulled himself back up. His right knee refused to support him and he slipped back down. "Oh, God." He tried again, shifting his weight to the left and struggling for every breath. He could tell without a doubt that Dorant’s last, parting blow had done some damage. He could only hope it wasn’t too serious. He’d promised Grace he could get them out of this, that he could hang on. Tightening his grip on the chains, he repeated it softly to himself. ‘Hang on. Hang on.’

He wasn’t sure how long he hung there. He needed to know. He needed the certainty of it. It was the one thing that he could count on – always: the unaltered passage of time. But if he didn’t know how much time had passed, then he had lost control of it. And it had lost control of this. Which meant that this situation – like Iraq – could become interminable, unending. If he let that happen, hopelessness would set in. He knew that. Been there, done that, had the t-shirt – before it had been ripped off him anyway. He smiled to himself. ‘Hang on, Jack. You’re rambling, Rose.’

Time passed; or maybe it didn’t; but he thought it must have because his shoulders burned, his arms were shaking, his left leg was trembling, threatening to give out under him. Still he held on. He concentrated on the feel of the cold, damp wall against his back. He counted his breaths. Without a watch he couldn’t be sure, but like counting the seconds between lighting and thunder, he sensed a storm approaching as his breathing grew quicker, more shallow. He studied the pattern of the rock wall opposite him until he saw the ghost of something hidden there – the shape of a dog maybe. It reminded him of Randy. He missed that damn, stupid, horny dog. And Rascal, of course; good old dependable Rascal. God, he thought he even missed Digit a little – damn, stupid bird.

The storm hit in the form of three silent aliens, Jimmy Durante’s road crew. Jack smirked as without a word, they entered and approached him. One carried a short, thick club.

"Hey, guys." Jack was surprised to hear his own voice. It sounded weak, a little pathetic. Okay, a lot pathetic. But since when did he let that stop him? "Anybody got the time?"

The aliens didn’t look at him. One approached his left arm and loosened the shackle from the wall, hanging onto the chain that was still fastened around Jack’s wrist. Unfortunately, the left was his good side, the weight bearing side, and Jack slipped a little, lost his balance, groaning as he struggled to keep himself upright, conscious.

"What’s – up?"

They took their places. One pulling his arm forward, straight out from the wall, holding it taut with the chain; another stood near his shoulder, forcing Jack’s back to the wall. The third alien, the one with the club, stepped in front of him. Jack studied his profile, tried to wrap his mind around what was happening.

"Don’t tell me – you drew – the short straw."

The alien glanced at him, an almost sheepish look on his face. Jack was taken aback at the emotion evident in the creature’s glance, and he suddenly realized he wasn’t going to like this. He looked again at the club, then at his own arm.

"No." He suddenly saw their plan. He struggled, but it was too late. He knew that, even before he saw the alien raise the club over his head and swing with all his strength. He knew it before he heard the swishing noise the club made as it sliced through the air. He knew it when he felt the bones in his arm explode and heard his own anguished screams fill the air. As he passed out, he realized he finally knew what time it was: too late.

* * * * *

He screamed. Jack screamed.

Grace sat up; she’d been dozing. No dreams this time. Earlier she’d dreamt she was walking down a long hallway lined with portraits. She’d stopped in front of one that looked like Abraham Lincoln; she was studying it when it had changed into a Brady Bunch family portrait; then into a photo of Jack; then into Jack coughing.

She’d come awake to find the real Jack choking, struggling to breathe. Half-dazed, still caught up in the dream, she’d tried to get him to drink. Instead, he’d made her swear again that she wouldn’t give in to Dorant. Then the aliens had come and had hauled him away.

Jack’s smile and parting words still fresh in her mind, Grace had curled back up on the floor, and had cried. She could hear quiet words next door, then a shout from Dorant and a moan from Jack. Hiding her face in her hands, shutting out the sight of her cell, Grace lay there. Finally, things had gone eerily quiet, and she had dozed.

Jack’s scream woke her. She sat up, holding her breath. Listening. That one solitary, wretched scream of pain. Then nothing. She chewed her lip and listened. She was still listening when the door opened, and she was faced with her nightmare – Dorant, smiling.

"Did you rest well, my precious?" When she didn’t answer, he came and knelt down beside her.

"What have you done to him?"

"Me? I have done nothing."

Grace wanted to spit on this creature again. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to run. Instead, she sagged back against the wall, too tired even to cry. "You’ve killed him."

Dorant watched her, studying her. "Why would I do such a thing?"

Grace met his dead gaze with one of her own. "I’m not sure. Because you can? Because it would make you feel more like a man yourself to kill someone like Jack; to humiliate him, to torture him, and then to kill him?"

"You think very highly of your mate." He sounded bothered by that fact, jealous perhaps. "I have told you why you are here. There is no need to discuss it any further."

Maybe it was like Jack said, sometimes you have to stop thinking about something before the answer comes to you. Or maybe it was the absence of hope clearing her mind. For whatever reason, Grace suddenly realized something about this creature. "I think it’s because I represent something you can never have."

Dorant’s eyebrows rose, then he frowned. "And Jack O’Neill?"

Grace smiled, not unkindly. "He represents something you can never be."

Suddenly, Dorant’s hand was on her arm, and he was dragging her towards the doorway. Grace struggled to gain her footing as her arm was painfully wrenched.

"You wish to see him? You wish to see what sort of man you take to mate?" He jerked her arm hard, causing tears to fill her eyes and run silently down her face. She was dragged across the stone floor and to an open cell across the hallway. Quietly sobbing, Grace was still trying to adjust to Dorant’s rough treatment, when he suddenly let her go.

"What–," panting, getting to her hands and feet, she looked up. "Oh my God. Jack?" She half-crawled, half-ran to him. "What have you done to him?"

Jack was chained to the wall. Both feet were secured by manacles; his right arm was stretched out to the side and up as far as it would go. Only his left arm was free, although chains were still dangling from his wrist. His head drooped forward; his bruised torso twisted because of the three-way shackling. She could hear his ragged breathing, and could see his chest moving rapidly, shallowly. It was obvious why they had not bothered to chain the other arm. It was mangled, horribly broken; the limb was useless, and wouldn’t have supported his weight. The sight of it also explained the scream she’d heard. 

"Jack." She touched his face. His eyes were half-open, but she didn’t think he could hear or see her. His skin was pale and clammy, and she knew he was in shock. Touching his shoulder, she looked down, studying the arm closely. They had broken it in several places, starting at the elbow and working their way down. The worst of the breaks were concentrated in the middle of the forearm. Blood was running down his limb and dripping off his fingers, and she could see at least three pieces of white bone protruding through the skin. Grace pressed her forehead to his. "Oh, Jack, what have they done to you?"

"We have shown him we do not tolerate obstinance."

Grace turned on him, angry. "Why are you doing this?"

Dorant reached out a hand to caress her hair, and Grace shoved him away with her arm. "We have been over this. So you–"

"So I will give myself to you. But why? Why do you want me? I’m–I’m nothing. You already have a queen. Look at me. I’m just a regular woman from Earth. I don’t belong here. _We_ don’t belong. I just–I want to go home. Please. Let me–let me take Jack and leave. We’ll tell them not to hurt you. We won’t come back here. No one will."

Dorant frowned. "Tell who not to hurt me?"

"The others. The military."

"Oh," he relaxed, "the ones called Carter and Daniel and Teal’c. What can only three do to me? Besides, they do not know where you are."

It was Grace’s turn to frown. Was this her opening? Was this her chance to strike? She glanced at Jack, who was panting, trying to rouse himself. She looked back at Dorant and shook her head slowly. "No. Not them. The others." Dorant’s head tilted, and the eyes fixed on her. "The ones who will come through the gate. Looking for Jack. And for me."

"What – others?"

"Grace?" Jack’s voice was whisper-soft, and it was filled with all the pain he must be feeling, but she ignored him.

She laughed softly, haughtily, something she hoped Dorant could appreciate. "Do you honestly think our people will not look for us?" He didn’t answer, and she could tell he was caught off guard at the thought. "They will come through the Stargate. Hordes of them. They will find us. They will take us home. But mostly, they will pay you back for all the kindness you’ve shown us."

Dorant stared at her, then swallowed. She could hear it from here, and knew she had struck a chord of fear somewhere in that alien mind. "Then we will kill them, as we will kill you."

Grace forced the smile to remain on her face. "But you are so few. And we are many."

Dorant continued to stare, not speaking. He looked over her shoulder towards Jack, then back at her. Suddenly, he blinked, then he smiled. "In that case, I will kill him first. Then I will keep you until they come. If I have nothing to lose. . . ."

"You have everything to lose."

He grabbed for her. She tried to escape him, but he was too quick and too strong. His hand wrapped around her arm and she tried to pull away, bumping into Jack and causing him to cry out in pain.

"No! Let go!" She struggled, the clammy hands unrelenting in their quest to subdue her.

With a high-pitched squeal, Dorant pulled her to him then slammed her against the wall where Jack was hanging. Stunned, the breath knocked from her lungs, Grace turned, pressing her face against the cool bricks. In doing so, she came face to face with Jack. Suddenly, his eyes cleared, and he stared back at her.

"Grace?"

Time slowed as Grace studied the face just inches from hers. The intense brown eyes, the strong jaw and firm mouth, the lined cheeks. She noticed the scar running through his left eyebrow. She’d never asked how’d he gotten it. She stretched out a hand and touched it. "Hey, sweetie."

She felt Dorant’s hands on her waist, on her shoulder.

Jack blinked, trying to focus.

Sometimes you have to stop thinking about something before the answer comes to you.

"Everything’s going to be okay, Jack. I promise." She smiled at him, just before Dorant spun her around to face him.

The alien’s face was pressed so close she could feel the coolness of his skin on her lips. Grace could see the insanity in the flat eyes and the flaring nostrils. She could smell his breath, his body odor, even the mothy scent of his yellow robes. But overpowering it all was Jack. Jack was there. His sweat and blood and wet, noisy breaths; his presence powerful even as he hung helpless and trembling beside her. She shut her eyes, hearing words spoken a lifetime ago: ‘To whisper soft and quivering your name, and drink the passion burning in your frame.’

Grace breathed deeply, drinking in the nearness of him, drawing strength from him. Opening her eyes, she stared calmly into the eyes of her future.

Sometimes you have to stop thinking about something before the answer comes to you.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Grace," Jack sobbed and struggled weakly beside her, "no. Don’t do this."

She didn’t hear him; she heard nothing, saw nothing, except a narrow grey tunnel stretching out in front of her. "Yes, but – not here."

Dorant froze, suspecting a trap. When she said nothing more, he clasped her wrist and led her, without protest, from the room.

"No! You promised! Grace, no!" Jack’s breathless screams followed them.

* * * * *

"Are you sure you know where you’re going?" Her voice was quiet, carrying only so far as Daniel’s ear.

"Trust me, Sam."

She did. She had no choice. Daniel thought he could find the way back to the outer gate. He thought he would recognize enough unique architecture on enough of the buildings that the structures themselves would act as sign posts, breadcrumbs if you will, to lead them out. He was probably right. Besides, what did she have to lose. Sam was pretty sure that she would just get them lost. After long hours of walking the meandering streets, she could truly appreciate what a feat it was that her CO had managed from the distance of the ridge to more or less memorize the layout of the city.

After she and Daniel had discovered the drawing, they had left the house and had hightailed it back to where they had started, following the marks they had made on the buildings as they’d searched them. From there, their trip had slowed significantly as they were forced to draw on Daniel’s breadcrumb theory. Besides, their discovery had added an element of fear that had sent them into stealth mode again. They had dropped their guard earlier, thinking that the city had been abandoned. Now, she thought perhaps ‘abandoned’ was not a proper description; invaded, decimated - those words seemed more apt.

"Come on." Her hands wrapped around her P-90, her eyes trying to cover everywhere at once, Sam started to step out from the doorway where they were hidden. Immediately, her hand went up, signaling Daniel to freeze. At the corner of the building, she saw a shadow move. The first sign of life, besides themselves, that she’d seen in over 13 hours. She signed to Daniel to wait, and she began moving forward, hugging the wall, inching her weapon to her shoulder, prepared to shoot, to kill. As she moved, she eased the safety off the gun.

Four feet from the corner of the building, her heart racing, preparing to face her enemy, Sam was taken aback as an alien peeked around the corner directly at her.

"Stop!" She aimed the weapon, and heard Daniel suddenly rushing up behind her. "Don’t move."

But the alien did, he stepped around the corner, his arms out in surrender, revealing himself. "Please. Don’t shoot. I mean you no harm."

Sam kept the weapon aimed, ready. "Who are you?"

"My name is Uhran, and I know where your people are."

Sam almost lowered her weapon in shock, but at the last minute, retrained her sights on him. It could be a trick. "Why should I believe you?"

"Sam?"

"Please," the alien glanced around them, "we cannot talk here. We will be seen, reported."

Sam agreed, at least with the being seen part. She felt vulnerable, exposed. She pointed with the barrel of the gun, indicating the next building. "In there."

Once inside, she had Daniel search the building while she kept an eye on their companion.

"What was your name again?"

"Uhran."

"You said you know where our friends are. Which friends?"

Uhran looked confused. "Your leader and his mate, of course."

Daniel had come back to join them. "Are they okay?"

"They were alive when I saw them last."

"Which was when exactly?"

"Perhaps three passes."

"Passes?" Daniel shook his head. "Minutes, hours? I don’t understand."

"It doesn’t matter, Daniel. You didn’t exactly answer his question, Uhran. He asked if they were okay. You said they were alive. Are they hurt?"

"The female was unharmed."

"And the Colonel?"

The alien ducked his head. "He has been beaten."

"Shit. How badly?"

"I–I am unsure."

Sam nodded towards the door. "Okay. Well, take us to them."

"No."

"Listen, you slimy, little bastard" Sam’s hands tightened on her weapon as she heard the Colonel’s words coming out of her mouth, "you know where they are, and now you’re going to take us to them."

"We must wait."

"Why?"

"For the others."

Sam shook her head, and glared over at Daniel. Was this guy for real? Was he trying to be obtuse or did it just come natural to him?

She was more than willing to let Daniel take over. "What others are we waiting for?"

"The rest of your people. They are near." When neither spoke, Uhran continued. "Some of my brethren have gone out to lead them to us."

"Your brethren?"

Uhran took a step closer, locking his hands together as if in supplication. "I must apologize for Dorant and Sibel, our leaders. They – we do not all follow them so willingly."

"You could have fooled me." Yeah, she was channeling O’Neill all right.

"We had to – fool you. As well as our sovereigns, and their followers. My brethren and I are not many, but we recognize the signs of the royal illness. We were unable to stop them from taking over this city, or from capturing your people. But, with your help, perhaps we can yet save them."

"Them? Jack and Grace?"

"Yes. And the inhabitants."

Sam looked at Daniel. "The inhabitants? Of the city?"

"Are you saying the inhabitants are still alive?" Daniel seemed to perk up at that.

"Most were killed in the invasion. But others went into hiding. My brethren and I helped them to escape. After the killings, Dorant returned most of our warriors back through the gate to our homeland."

Sam leaned back against a table, relaxing slightly. "Then the reason we saw no women or children. . . ."

"We were an advance party. Dorant and Sibel have wanted this world for many seasons. It was discovered by their father, Tuthal, when the sovereigns were mere children; he built a friendship with the Malteshians. Our worlds engaged in trade – food, medicines, weapons. Whatever was needed. But when Tuthal died, Dorant decided to take Maltesh, against the advice of the council."

Daniel frowned. "You said ‘their father.’ That means that Dorant and Sibel are–,"

"Brother and sister. Yes. Why?"

Sam made a face, but Daniel forced a polite smile on his face. "Uh, no reason. And the royal sickness you mentioned?"

Uhran shook his head. "It strikes randomly. Amongst the sovereigns only. Tuthal was free of it, but his sibling, his mate, Niham, was severely afflicted and died at her own hand soon after the sovereigns were born. The reason for it is unknown."

Well, Sam could take a stab at the reason. While she knew that inbreeding had not been uncommon centuries before, particularly among royalty, the thought still gave her goosebumps. She decided to turn the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Uhran, how many of your people remain in Maltesh, and where did they go? We’ve seen only you since last night."

"There are perhaps four dozens. No more. After you retired last evening, Dorant recalled them all to the catacombs beneath the city."

"Catacombs?"

"Yes. It is a network of abandoned mines beneath the city. I believe it is the source of the mineral you seek."

"Is that where the Colonel and Grace are being held?"

Uhran nodded. "They are being held at the opening to the catacombs which lies beneath the governor’s palace."

"Do you mean that they were beneath us the whole time? In the same building?"

Uhran smiled grimly. "Dorant said you would not spend the time necessary to search the entire palace before moving the search elsewhere."

"Yeah, well, as much as I hate to admit it, he was right. Damn!" Sam slammed a fist onto the tabletop. The naquadria, the Colonel, Grace – everything they had been looking for had been right underneath them the whole time. She’d screwed up.

* * * * *

Jack was at first unaware that anyone else was in the room. The pain radiating up and out from his arm, the throbbing behind his eyes, and the fire in his chest were robbing him of oxygen and driving him to a place where nothing existed beyond his own private hell. Charlie was there. Not the sweet Charlie that he would give anything in the world to be able to hold in his arms again, but a deformed, maddened Charlie with strange eyes and a twisted mouth and cruel words. Behind him stood Kawalsky, who looked happy to see Jack, genuinely happy, despite the presence of the son who was not his son. Jack reached out towards his old friend, wanting to know what was going on, what had happened. Kawalsky opened his mouth to explain, or so Jack thought, but instead of words a snake peeked out from between the man’s lips – a snake so large that Jack thought Kawalsky’s jaw must surely dislocate before the snake’s head would be free. Suddenly, the massive serpent shot from his friend in a rush of water and a tearing of flesh that reminded Jack of Charlie’s birth.

Panicked, his heart straining to pump oxygen-deprived blood, Jack opened his eyes. Grace was there, touching his face.

"Jack." Her voice sounded distant, but real. Not evil. Kind.

What time was it? Time to leave? Would they be allowed to go now that he was finished? He couldn’t do any more. Not today. Maybe they could come back tomorrow. Grace touched his shoulder, and he shivered. It was too close; too close to touching the arm that was the source of an added misery he couldn’t afford. She pressed her forehead to his.

"Oh, Jack, what have they done to you?"

He blinked and Sara was there. She was yelling, and crying. It was something about Iraq, and how he wasn’t the same man anymore. She couldn’t take it, didn’t understand, and didn’t he love her. Did he? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t think he loved anything. Anybody. What was love anyway? What kind of a thing was it that could get you through beatings, starvation, months of torture, and then after seeing you through, left you in a vacuum. Deserted you. One eternity all you’re wanting is the chance to hug your wife and child for the last time, and the next they’re there and you can’t stand their touch on your skin. What kind of emotion was it that filled you up and then left you an empty sack shaped like a man? He didn’t think he wanted love. It was too costly. Too worthless. He couldn’t afford it. Didn’t deserve it. He watched Sara’s mouth move, but stopped hearing her words. Just like old times.

Sara turned away, said something, and suddenly there was his hockey coach from high school. Jack smiled. Coach Boylan. ‘Boylan mad’ had been the team’s catch phrase. ‘We do not tolerate obstinance, O’Neill. Isn’t that right, ma’am?’ Boylan turned away from Jack and looked at Jack’s Grandma Stella. She had always been small, was suddenly even smaller. She was pointing a finger at him. Jack had always hated it when she did that. Made him feel about an inch tall. ‘Look at me, Johnny. I’m just a regular woman from Earth. I don’t belong here. _We_ don’t belong.’

What the hell? Jack wanted to shake his head, to clear it, but he was afraid of the pain that might be there. He shut his eyes, trying to force his mind to process what was happening. He felt hot, cold. He hurt. God, he hurt.

He heard a strange voice. "Tell who not to hurt me?"

"The others. The military."

The military? That was him, right? He was in the military. Was he supposed to hurt this person. Wait. He was the one hurt. Right? God, if they would just pipe some air in here. He couldn’t help panting, wondering why it caused pain to shoot through his chest. After a few moments of concentrated thought, he raised his head, blinking.

_  
_

She was looking at him, that woman. He tried to think of her name, but she turned away before he could speak it. "No. Not them. The others. The ones who will come through the gate. Looking for Jack. And for me."

"What – others?"

Suddenly, it came to him. "Grace?" It hurt to speak, and she ignored him. He could hear her laughing and talking with someone. Why was she laughing? What was she saying about the Stargate? They weren’t supposed to discuss it. Not even with family. Not with Grandma Stella, not with Coach Boylan.

Suddenly, Grace fell against him, hit his arm, and he yelled as pain shot up his arm, excruciating pain that didn’t abate, that hung there animating his otherwise lifeless arm. What had he done this time? What round of punishment did this make? Scared, afraid to face his tormentor, Jack raised his head.

Grace. Grace was here. Beside him. Looking at him. This wasn’t Iraq. Not Iraq. Banshee. Planet Banshee. Captured. The King or somebody wanted something. Jack stared at her, so close to him. That was it. Grace. They wanted Grace. Didn’t they?

"Grace?"

She reached out a hand and touched his face. "Hey, sweetie."

He saw someone move to stand behind her, and he had to blink, trying to see who it was. Was it Coach? No. Someone else. Taller. Thinner.

"Everything’s going to be okay, Jack. I promise."

Grace smiled at him, and Jack felt fear that had nothing to do with the pain in his battered chest and arm. The tall, thin man grabbed her, turned her away. The King. Yeah, that’s who that was. The King. The King who wanted her. Standing close. Too close. Jack felt his pulse race; panic clutched at him. Boylan mad.

"Yes," Grace whispered. Jack felt his heart seize. He knew what that meant. Couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She’d promised. This was why he was here. He had failed. He’d tried to pay the price, but he’d come up short. Again.

"Grace, no. Don’t do this." Jack sobbed. What had he done? He’d lost his chance. He struggled, but his body couldn’t, wouldn’t, obey him. God, no. No. No. Please. Not this. Just not this. Let it be Iraq. He shut his eyes. Let it be Iraq. Just me. No Sara. No Charlie. No Grace. Nobody but me. Just me here.

"Yes, but – not here."

The scream was ripped from his lungs with the last bit of air. "No! You promised! Grace, no!"

But, it didn’t matter. The screams, the struggles, the remorse, the pain. None of it mattered. Because when his body failed him, when the lack of air forced him to quiet, to hang lifeless and dazed, he had failed her. Completely. Absolutely. Everything had failed. His plans, his body, his best intentions, his stupid poems, his love. It had all failed. It had been for nothing. The only things that didn’t fail him were the constancy of the pain thrumming through his body, the alien smells that assaulted him, and his hearing.

His hearing refused to fail him. It required his presence. It demanded that he take part. It forced him into the role of witness. He heard her cries, her muffled screams. He heard the sound blue satin makes when torn by cold, clammy alien hands. He heard alien passion mingled with sounds made all the more inhuman because they were ripped from a hurting, abandoned, frightened, human throat.

He hung lifeless. Staring, seeing nothing. Hurting, numbed. Dying, yet alive.

When the Queen came to him, to seduce him, to shower him with rancid alien kisses, and to caress his hurting flesh with cold hands, he didn’t respond. He stared into and beyond the dress blues eyes and saw nothing. Not the past; certainly not the future. She whispered grating, taunting words into his ear, and he heard nothing but the sound of blue satin. She breathed against his lips, and he inhaled the fragrance of lilacs. When her attempts at seduction failed, she turned her efforts towards inducing a response of any kind, concentrating on the broken ribs and damaged arm. He embraced the pain like the lover she pretended to be. Eventually, she gave up and went away. The only signs of her presence were a vague memory and the belt hanging loose at his waist. She was a failed distraction. Another failure in a long line of them. Just something to be added to the list.

When Teal’c stepped inside the damp dungeon and approached him, Jack didn’t see him; his presence was no more than a shadow, a distant warmth on his skin. And when Carter and the others entered, he blinked them away. He relegated them into that place of non-existence that he had built to house Sara and Charlie and so many others all those years ago.

* * * * *

When Carter came on the scene, she immediately knew they were too late. She had been helping Col. Reynolds plan the rescue and had somehow ended up at the back of the pack consisting of SG units 1, 3 and 8. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs where Uhran had told them the Colonel and Grace were being held, King Dorant was dead. He lay face down on the floor of a dark, putrid-smelling cell in the basement of the palace, a staff weapon blast nearly severing his spine. While the black hole in the center of the alien’s back was still smoking, Teal’c was nowhere to be seen.

Carter did see Grace, however; she was curled into a small ball in the corner of the cell. One of the medics from SG-8 was already kneeling beside her, talking softly. Carter saw the torn clothing and the tear-stained face, and her stomach rolled, threatening to empty when she realized what had happened. Oh, God. The thought of that thing’s hands on human flesh. Coughing back a lump in her throat, Sam grabbed the arm of a nearby lieutenant, and nodded at the personnel still standing around the small cell. "Get these men out of here."

"Yes, ma’am."

Carter threw another look towards Grace before retreating into the corridor, taking a deep breath as she did so.

"Sam." Daniel stared at her from the doorway of a nearby cell.

Oh, crap. The Colonel. She knew it was him. She could tell by the stunned, hurt look on Daniel’s face.

She entered the room and at first couldn’t see anything except for a small group of men gathered near the far wall. Teal’c was there. She stepped forward, alongside Daniel. Teal’c moved to one side, and suddenly she saw him. He was hanging by one arm. His face was pale, nearly white against the dark stone of the surrounding walls. His eyes were open, staring towards the floor. He looked dead. A couple of the Marines were working at removing the chains which secured his right arm and his ankles. Grimacing at the sight of his mangled arm, Carter reached out and felt the artery on his neck. It pulsed weakly but methodically beneath her fingertips.

"He’s alive," she whispered.

"He is." Teal’c laid his staff weapon on the floor and, without comment, fastened the Colonel’s trousers and loosely buckled the belt. Carter blinked. She hadn’t noticed the state of her CO’s clothing until Teal’c had done that. Did that mean–

"Major Carter," she looked up at Teal’c, who had slipped a large hand under the Colonel’s left arm and had wrapped his other arm behind O’Neill’s waist, ready to hold him. "Please support his right arm."

Sam shook herself, and reached up to grab the arm just as the shackle dropped free. She caught the dead weight of the limb and helped Teal’c lower the man to the floor. The Colonel didn’t move, didn’t react. He didn’t even hold up his own head; Teal’c supported it in a large hand as if O’Neill were an infant. Sam watched the brown eyes for any sign of life. Nothing. My God, how could this happen in less than 24 hours? How long had they been here like this while she and Daniel had been uselessly wandering the streets? If they’d just searched the palace more thoroughly before giving up and moving the search elsewhere.

"Jack?" Daniel was kneeling with them now, leaning over the still form of his friend. "Jack, can you hear me?" Someone handed Sam a blanket, and she and Daniel laid it over him, taking care to avoid the badly damaged arm.

Suddenly, Sam came awake. "We need a medic here!"

"He’s right here, Major." It was Reynolds, who was standing behind her and looking down at O’Neill’s lifeless form. "God, what’d the bastards do to him?" No one responded; they weren’t meant to.

"Major?" Sam scooted over, allowing the medic room to work. She watched, dazed, as the man knelt down and began examining the Colonel. He deftly ran his hands over O’Neill’s right arm, his legs, his chest, even his head. The medic checked her CO’s pulse, took his blood pressure, and held a stethoscope against the bruised chest. Carter could see that the Colonel _was_ breathing, but his breaths were so shallow and rapid, she’d missed the movement when he’d been hanging from the wall. The medic frowned. "Everybody, quiet!" He leaned back over the Colonel, listening again. "Shit."

"What?" Daniel’s eyes were wide.

"This man needs a chest tube." Pulling equipment from his pack, the medic stared up at Reynolds. "We need to get him to the infirmary. Now." While Reynolds began issuing orders to get the teams ready to move out, Sam watched as the medic readied a large needle. He looked over at Daniel. "Hemothorax. He’s bleeding into his chest."

"God." Daniel dropped a hand onto his friend’s bare shoulder. "Come on, Jack. Hang on."

Carter thought she saw a flicker in the sightless eyes. "Colonel?" Whatever it was, it was gone as soon as she saw it. She cringed as the medic plunged the needle into the heaving chest and withdrew a syringe full of dark red blood.

"Michaels!" The medic disposed of the needle and began readying an IV. "I need help over here. You two need to move back."

Carter and Daniel stepped away, watching from a distance as a team of medics readied their CO for the trip back to the Stargate. They watched as his arm was gently placed in a splint and clean gauze was draped over the site of the open fractures. An IV was hooked up to the other arm, and he was strapped onto a stretcher.

"Maj. Carter." It was Reynolds again. "We need to get these people home – yesterday."

"Yeah." She threw a look back at O’Neill. Throughout the manhandling, even when the needle had sunk into his chest and when the medics had been moving the badly fractured arm, he hadn’t responded. He lay there, looking up towards the ceiling, but seeing, hearing nothing. "Yeah, let’s go."

A hollow scream from the other room caused all but the Colonel to turn and stare. Teal’c was the first out the door, and Sam and Daniel followed on his heels. When they reached the cell, Grace had backed herself into a corner, away from the medics who were trying to load her onto a stretcher. She was sobbing hysterically.

"Maj. Carter," Lt. Phillips looked pale, "she came to and she won’t let us near her."

Carter was at a loss. She was a woman, but she’d never had to handle a situation like this. "Maybe–,"

"Back away from her." Teal’c strode to the center of the room, looking around at the others. "Leave us." Everyone eased out of the room, leaving Teal’c and Grace alone.

Carter watched from the hallway as Teal’c slowly approached her, his hand outstretched slightly. The large warrior knelt down on the floor in front of her and pulled a blanket from the stretcher, he wrapped it around her shoulders, and she let him. Behind her, Sam could hear the others coming out of the cell with the Colonel, but she couldn’t take her eyes from the scene in front of her. Teal’c spoke calmly to Grace, saying something Carter couldn’t hear. Grace nodded her head slightly, her eyes swollen and dazed. Teal’c effortlessly scooped her up and standing, held her like a child in his arms. Coming out of the room, he looked at Sam.

"I will carry her."

Carter nodded, watching as the Jaffa strode up the stairs as if Grace weighed nothing in his strong arms. "Daniel, get Teal’c’s weapon."

Picking up the weapon where Teal’c had dropped it, Daniel came back and stood beside her. "Sam, what just happened?"

"Grace told me she liked Teal’c from the minute she met him." It had been when they were hiding in the bushes while Grace changed into the blue dress. Grace had been laughing, saying it made no sense to hide because the Colonel had seen her naked. Then, she proceeded to tell Sam about the incident with Daniel the night before. Sam had started giggling then, and had said she wondered what Teal’c would have done if he’d been the one on watch. ‘I think Teal’c would just bow, smile that cocky little grin of his, and take a good, long look,’ Grace had responded, still laughing. That was when she’d told Sam how much she liked him. God, was that just yesterday?

Carter looked over at Daniel, wondering briefly if she looked as frightened and stunned as he did. Yeah, probably. "The Colonel told her she could trust Teal’c with her life." Sam looked back up as Teal’c disappeared through the doorway at the top of the stairs. "And she believed him."

* * * * *

Grace snuggled into the safe cocoon. It was warm here. Safe. Protected.

The nightmare was gone. That’s what it had been – a nightmare. That was all. Just a bad dream. She’d had them a lot as a child. She remembered having one at Great Aunt Catherine’s house once. She’d awakened screaming, and Catherine had let her snuggle up in the bed with her. Just like this. Snuggling.

Something warm was wrapped around her. She remembered being cold, but not anymore. Here, it was warm. Strong arms enveloped her. Maybe it was her father. He used to carry her, just like this. But, wait, no, father was gone. He’d died years ago, when she was a teenager. Then who? Jack?

No, Jack’s arm was broke; it wasn’t strong. Not now. Once maybe. Not any more. Someone broke it. Someone – no, no, no. Don’t go there. Don’t think.

Teal’c. Yes, it was Teal’c. He was her protector. He was walking. He was carrying her. He was taking her home. That’s what he’d said. ‘I will take you home now.’ She knew he would. He promised. She could trust him. Like Jack. Jack promised. But then he didn’t – no! No! No!

Grace squirmed against the firm chest. She pressed her face into the warm flesh. Teal’c smelled nice. He smelled safe, and familiar, and kind, and – safe. She heard him speak to someone. She felt it tickle her ear; it echoed through the palms of her hands. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, enjoying the touch of his voice, but not the words. Words didn’t matter. Words were just – words. Nothing more. Like promises. Just empty things. It was the force behind them that mattered.

She snuggled closer, and felt the hands tighten around her. It hurt a little when he squeezed her, but it felt good, too. Safe. The hurt was an old hurt. Teal’c wouldn’t let anything new happen to her. She could even sleep if she wanted. She squeezed her eyes tighter, but it was hard to shut out all the light, all the flashes of light. And mixed with all the flashes was a face, scary, all grey, and laughing.

Grace gasped softly, and felt Teal’c’s arms lift her higher, safer, away from the bad place. The bad place was below. She was here. Up here. Where it was safe.

He was walking. He was carrying her. He was walking her home. Like an old-fashioned suitor. She didn’t know how to get there. But Teal’c knew. He never faltered. His footsteps never flagged. Even when they left the hollow sound of the indoors and traded it for the flat, hollow, graveled pathways, he carried her. His grip on her never slipped.

They walked. Sometimes the other voices came near, sometimes Teal’c said something back, but through it all she remained buried, hidden away, protected. Safe. She heard someone say her name once, and Jack’s, but she squeezed her eyes and they all went away.

Finally, Teal’c stopped walking. It frightened her a little, but his arms stayed around her so she guessed it was okay. He spoke again, this time softly. Words just for her. No one else. ‘We are going through the Stargate now. Then, on the other side, we will be home.’

Home. The nightmare was gone. Grace snuggled into the safe cocoon. It was warm here. Safe. Protected.

* * * * *

Janet Fraiser sat in her office and stared at the opposite wall. She had walked calmly in here over an hour ago, had shut the door behind her, had turned out the light, had sat down in her chair, and had faced the place where she knew the opposite wall should be. Then she had cried. She wasn’t sure how long she had cried, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t long enough. How long was ‘long enough’? She didn’t know. Now, she sat here – gathering her strength, regaining the composure that some people thought she never lost. But this man was her friend, and this woman could have been.

There was a soft tap on her door, but Janet didn’t respond. Finally, it opened, just a crack, wide enough for Nancy Shaw, one of her nurses, to stick her head in the door. Nancy made no comment about the darkness; she asked no questions.

"I’m sorry to bother you, doctor. You wanted us to let you know."

"He’s waking up." It wasn’t a question.

"Yes, ma’am."

Janet nodded and cleared her throat. "I’ll be right there."

Nancy pulled the door shut, encasing her in darkness once more. Janet suddenly realized she’d been sitting there with her arm dangling over the edge of a stack of medical charts. Even in the dark, she could feel the gouge left in the skin on the underside of her arm. It would leave a mark, but it would fade quickly.

Janet swallowed back another sob. Just like Grace. Her marks, too, would soon disappear. Nothing to show what had happened. And Jack’s, well, his wouldn’t totally disappear but they would fade. You would have to look closely to find them. She thought about the new scars already forming, and wondered if whenever he saw them, would he always remember where they came from. Janet rubbed her eyes. It was Jack. Of course, he would remember. Every single time.

Janet pushed herself wearily to her feet and back out into the harsh light of the infirmary. She walked down the hall, checking first on Grace. She was still sedated. They would be moving her in the morning to Academy Hospital in town. Physically, there was nothing more Janet could do for her; mentally, emotionally – Janet wasn’t sure what could be done. It would take time. A lot of time. And maybe a miracle or two.

Janet spoke to the nurse, reiterating that she didn’t want Grace left alone. And there were to be no visitors, with the exception of Teal’c. When they’d arrived through the gate 11 hours ago, they’d been unable to pry her from Teal’c’s arms. Janet had finally sedated her, putting her completely under. She didn’t like resorting to that, but she had had to examine Grace, make sure she wasn’t seriously hurt. Teal’c had seemed as reluctant to part with her as she was with him, and he had stayed in the hallway outside her room until just two hours ago. Janet had finally ordered him to leave. It wasn’t so much that he was exhausted, which he was, it was the emotional strain written in the hard lines of his face that spoke to the doctor in Janet. Besides, Grace would sleep until morning; longer if Janet could arrange it.

Janet watched her sleeping. She looked peaceful, undisturbed by dreams, but Janet knew it was an illusion created and maintained by the drugs. She reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind Grace’s ear, remembering how she had seen the Colonel do the same thing just two days ago in a room just down the hall from this one. Janet frowned, and left Grace in the care of the nurse.

When she walked into the room where Jack lay, Janet felt his presence; it filled more than just the bed. Even asleep, it was a palpable thing. Cold and hurt, bitter and hard, compassionate and loyal, stubborn to a fault – so many things.

"Go." Janet signaled to the nurse on duty to leave them. "Shut the door on your way."

"Yes, doctor."

Janet waited until they were alone before approaching the bed. First, she checked the monitors and his vitals, then looked over the chart. She lifted the sheet, checking the chest tube and the Foley catheter. His arm looked terrible, even to her. She hadn’t wanted to use the external fixator, but the orthopaedic surgeon had insisted it was necessary. She hadn’t argued; it wasn’t her specialty. Pulling a chair next to the bed, Janet wondered what her specialty was. When had it become this?

Janet sat and watched him sleeping, battling demons only he could see. Nancy was right, he was slowly coming around. Janet could see it in the way his eyes were moving behind his closed eyelids, in the subtle twitch of the muscles in his face and hands.

She watched him, dreading the moment when he would finally rouse himself. Usually she encouraged it, anxiously awaited it. Not this time. Not after examining the victims. Not after talking with Daniel and Sam. They’d given her the graphic details of what the rescue team had found. What had happened to Grace had been obvious. Alien or not, the signs of the rape were classic. What O’Neill had suffered was less clear. Of course, there were the overt injuries: dislocated knee, three broken ribs, internal bleeding, collapsed lung, concussion, open fractures of the left radius and ulna, and an assortment of contusions and abrasions. Those would heal; some more slowly, more painfully than the others, but they _would_ heal. It was that other injury that worried her, the injury that could send a vibrant man like the Colonel into the catatonic state described by those who’d brought him home. He’d been unconscious upon his arrival, and Janet couldn’t be sure of the cause of that particular injury, but from the descriptions given by his rescuers, she could hazard a good guess. And it scared her.

Jack coughed softly, and Janet stood up. They had extubated him a few hours ago, and had replaced the tube with a nasal cannula, something he hated almost as much. Janet touched his shoulder, prepared to swat his hand away from the oxygen-giving device. He coughed again, grimacing slightly, but otherwise didn’t move. Janet could almost sense him quietly assessing his injuries – what hurt, what didn’t. She’d seen him do it too many times not to recognize the signs.

She leaned close, keeping her voice firm but calm. "Colonel, can you hear me? It’s Dr. Fraiser. You’re in the infirmary at the SGC. You’ve been injured, but you’re going to be fine."

Brown eyes looked up, but not at her. They gazed past her, aimed somewhere over her head.

"Colonel?" Nothing. She waited for the eyes to clear, to focus, but they didn’t. "Your team is fine, sir. Grace is–," she thought she saw a flicker of something, then it was gone. "Grace is going to be okay."

Janet looked up at the monitors, checking for any change, needing to escape the dead gaze. "You’ve had surgery to repair internal injuries, and to set your arm, but you’re going to be fine." Still nothing.

Janet forced a smile she didn’t feel. "Would you like to see your team? They’re worried. Hovering. Bothering my staff about when they can see you." He blinked, his eyes remaining unfocused.

Janet sighed and grabbed his right hand, squeezing it, and raising her voice. "Okay, sir. I really need to know you can hear me. Sir?" She shook his hand slightly. The only response was him closing his eyes.

She held his limp hand a moment longer, studying his face. The tension there told her he wasn’t sleeping, but he had just as effectively set her aside. An O’Neill specialty: one minute you’re there, the next you’re not. She’d seen him perform the feat before. Despite the circumstances, it hurt to be on the receiving end. Janet laid his hand back on the bed, and patted the back of it gently. For a moment she debated rubbing a knuckle over his sternum to elicit a response, but then she thought of what he’d had to endure and couldn’t bear the thought of causing him any more pain.

"Okay, Colonel. I’ll go away. For now."

Janet rearranged the sheet, looked at the bandages covering the injured arm, adjusted the drip on the IV, lowering the pain meds slightly. Maybe it would help rouse him, but she doubted it. Finally, she couldn’t think of anything else to check, and realized she was merely delaying her departure. She stood there, wanting to say something, anything, that might help. But what?

"Colonel, I’m–," she was crying again. Not sobbing, but a quiet, controlled grief. "I’m so sorry, Jack. I know it doesn’t help, it doesn’t change things, but. . . ." But what, Janet? What? She wiped her eyes; Jack didn’t move; hadn’t even noticed the cannula, let alone her tears. What could you have done to help?

You could have failed her on the physical. That’s what you could have done. That’s what he’d wanted you to do, but couldn’t ask it.

"I’m sorry. I just – I wanted you to know." Janet dried her eyes, and left. Everything she could do, she had done.

* * * * *

The first thing that came back was the last thing that had left: his hearing. He heard beeps and squeaks and clicks and swishes and sounds he couldn’t even label. And above and behind it all, a soft, hushed hum. Not unpleasant. Comforting, grounding. Unless it changed. If it changed pitch, gained volume, it might resemble the sound of a scream, a woman screaming. Or a high-pitched alien voice. He began to worry.

Then the pain arrived. It was time in reverse – everything coming back on line in the reverse order of its leaving. His chest first with a tight burning and a strange pulling sensation on the right side. It worsened with breathing, and he thought about stopping, just for a few minutes, but his body functioned despite his orders. Reality in reverse.

A thrumming pain moved up his leg, and settled in his pelvis. It was a dim, weak pain compared to that which was wrapping itself around his chest, around the area of his heart, so he grabbed onto it. Felt it, studied it. Concentrated on holding it, stopping the slow progression of his body reasserting itself.

A tug on the back of his right hand made him lose his grip. It slipped, faltered, and was gone. A puff of cool air touched his skin as something was lifted from him – something so light that he hadn’t known it was there. It fell back onto him, suddenly heavy. Confining. Starting at his chest, working its way down over his stomach, his hips, thighs, calves, even his feet. Touching him. Touching. Relentless touching. Deep blue eyes.

He struggled, but his body remained limp, lifeless. Hearing and pain the only things he owned. Reality in reverse.

His struggles spawned more pain. This time searing pain, mind-numbing, breath-taking, brutal pain. It seized him by the left arm, bit into his flesh and clamped down. He tried to scream, but a single cough emerged instead. Something brushed his shoulder and he coughed again. The pain in his arm joined the pain in his chest, squeezing the life from him.

His eyes opened. The next system trying to restore itself. But when he saw flat grey, his mind took over, shutting out the color of evil and hurt and pain and death. His eyes remained open, but registered nothing. He wrapped himself in the pain, hid there.

Something soft buzzed near his ear. A voice? Words? Only one word meant anything to him. Grace: a bad thing, a bad place. His mind took over again, shutting out the sound of the voice. He was only dimly aware of something squeezing his hand, shaking it.

Pain was his only asset now, and he lay there, immersed in it. Sometimes his eyes were open, sometimes they were closed. There were times a part of him was aware of things being done to him, hands touching him, moving him; it was then he retreated deepest into the pool of pain. Other times, they just left him laying there, hurting; but always someone was there. He couldn’t see them, but he sensed their presence. They would not let him escape. A woman and a man. They took turns guarding him; speaking, touching, standing over him, threatening to pull him into the grey place.

Then, _he_ came. The other one. A deep voice. Safe, different from the others. This one leaned over and joined with him in the pain. This one came to rescue him.

* * * * *

When Dr. Fraiser had ordered him out of the infirmary to eat and to rest, Teal’c had been secretly grateful. Standing at attention outside Dr. Elliot’s room, he had felt himself hanging on to his emotions by a fine, thin thread.

His arms ached from over three hours of carrying her from Maltesh to the Stargate. It wasn’t pain brought on by bearing a physical burden, but by the weight of her trust in him. It was a good ache. It reminded him that at the end, he had at least been able to do something, however small. Penance for failing to aid her and his brother.

Every step, penance. Every step triggering memories of others who had suffered similar fates because of his failure to act. Every step feeling the beat of the broken heart that jumped and jittered and hid itself within his arms. Every step looking upon his broken, injured brother.

Teal’c was not maudlin. He did not dwell on the past, on things he could not change. But he was a man. Seeing the pain and evil his friends had been forced to endure angered him, and caused him to doubt his own actions in the matter. He knew the feeling would pass, but for now he suffered along with them.

He tried to concentrate on the satisfaction he’d felt when he’d shot Dorant. That he’d shot him in the back didn’t bother him at all. The man had been raping O’Neill’s lover. The killing was justified. Still, the power of that death was nothing compared to the grief he felt.

Teal’c liked Grace Elliot. He admired her. She had gone on the mission despite her dread of it. He knew that bravery was not a lack of fear; bravery was facing your fears. She had done that, admirably. She was funny, and she was good for O’Neill; it had been nice to see his brother happy, content. And she had met Teal’c without qualms, without reservations, on the word of O’Neill alone. Yes, Teal’c liked her. And he knew from experience that the Grace Elliot he had liked, the one they had all been getting to know, was gone. What she had endured would change who she was. The change might be for the good, eventually. But for now, Teal’c mourned the loss.

He mourned, too, for O’Neill. His friend had been stripped from a warrior to a man, and from a man to nothing. His pride had been ripped away like a layer of cloth, and shame had been beaten into him, coloring him like the bruises which riddled his body. The rape of his lover, a rape of who he’d thought he was, what he was capable of doing for her. O’Neill had been stripped before, harshly, but Teal’c knew the pain did not diminish in the repetition. Dorant had opened a wound that no physician could heal. Only O’Neill could appreciate its severity; only he could bring about healing. If he chose.

Teal’c had escaped from the infirmary, sought solitude in his quarters. He took his time lighting the candles. They were as much a part of the process of kel-no-reem as the meditation itself. He settled himself on the floor, and closed his eyes. Her face swam before him. Frowning, he sighed and tried again. His friend’s face floated there, just out of reach.

When the tap on his door came, he welcomed it. "Enter."

"Teal’c?" Daniel Jackson peeked in at him. "I’m sorry. I’m interrupting."

"You are not." Teal’c began extinguishing the candles.

"Oh. Okay." Daniel Jackson entered and sat on the floor across from Teal’c, watching him.

"Can I help you, Daniel Jackson?"

"No. I," Daniel picked at something on the leg of his pants. "I just – I guess I didn’t want to be alone."

Strangely, Teal’c realized he understood the human’s need for company. "I understand."

"You do?" Daniel Jackson looked at him, wide-eyed. "I don’t know what I understand any more." When Teal’c didn’t respond, the human continued. "I’m afraid we’ve lost him this time, Teal’c."

He could hear the fear and the loneliness in the man’s voice. "Did we not find him and bring him home, Daniel Jackson?"

"Who did we bring home? Jack? That wasn’t Jack I saw back there. It was a stranger who’s been through something we can’t even begin to imagine." Teal’c said nothing. "So what do we do now? What can we do?"

Teal’c began re-lighting the candles, then took his position on the floor again. "We begin to imagine what he’s been through, and in so doing, we learn something of the stranger."

Teal’c closed his eyes and let the images come. He reached inside himself, and withdrew from the world. When he opened his eyes, Daniel Jackson was gone and 36 hours had passed.

When Teal’c entered O’Neill’s room in the infirmary, the man was sleeping, and Samantha Carter was sitting in a chair next to the bed, reading. She looked up when Teal’c entered.

"Hey," she smiled tiredly. "You okay?"

"I am well. O’Neill?"

Maj. Carter shook her head. "No change. He sleeps; he wakes up. He hasn’t spoken." She looked over at the subject of her words, then back at Teal’c. "Not even in his sleep. He has nightmares. But even then, he doesn’t make a sound. It’s–," she shrugged. "Somehow it’s worse than if he screamed."

Teal’c approached the bed, for the first time studying the metal rods coming out of his friend’s arm. They looked painful, alien. "I will sit with him."

"That’s okay, Teal’c. I haven’t been here long. I’ll stay."

"No." Teal’c looked at her. "I must sit with him. Alone."

"Oh. Uh, okay." Confused, Samantha Carter picked up her book and left.

Teal’c stood beside the bed and waited. A little over an hour later, O’Neill’s good arm twitched, and he squirmed on the bed. He began sweating. As Maj. Carter said, even when he tried to move the injured arm and his face screwed up in pain, he made no sound except for a small gasp as he came awake. His eyes opened; he looked around the room, seeing nothing, and panting. Finally, his breathing eased and his gaze settled somewhere on the ceiling. Teal’c had remained silent and unmoving throughout. He waited until O’Neill appeared to relax.

"Many years ago, before I become first prime to Apophis, I served alongside a friend. His name was Ry’kor. He and I grew up in the same village. We were childhood friends and were proud of the day when we were chosen to serve our god, Apophis. We served side by side. A few years after our service began, Ry’kor became betrothed to Brey’ta. We had both known her as a child. She was a good woman. She was very beautiful." Teal’c wasn’t sure if O’Neill could hear him, but he continued. "One day, a few weeks before my friend’s marriage, Apophis saw Brey’ta, and he desired her. So, he took her – he forced himself upon her. In front of Ry’kor." Teal’c paused, his voice thick with old emotion. "I held Ry’kor as he watched. I held him as he listened to Brey’ta’s screams. I held him as he cursed me."

Teal’c grew silent, not bothering to wipe away the tears coursing down his cheeks at the memory, and he waited. It was so faint, at first he wasn’t sure he’d heard it: a raspy, faltering voice, weak and unused.

"You were just a slave."

Teal’c’s heart swelled with pride that his brother would crawl out to help him, to reassure him. O’Neill could not surface to save himself, but he fought his way up from the depths for this lowly Jaffa, his friend. Teal’c looked at him, at the eyes still staring up at the ceiling. "I wanted to help my friend, but I could not. I was in bondage."

The response was delayed, quiet. "Yes."

Teal’c watched O’Neill closely. "As were you."

O’Neill’s eyes closed. Not in sleep. He squeezed them shut, his right hand curling into a weak fist. Several minutes passed in silence.

"I heard it, Teal’c. All of it." His eyes were still closed, his voice soft, unsure. If anyone had entered the room at that moment, Teal’c knew that he would kill them before he would allow them to break this fragile spell. "I tried. But it wasn’t enough." O’Neill opened his eyes and looked over at Teal’c, focusing on his face. "I wanted to save her."

"Yes."

The brown eyes blinked, then closed. In sleep this time. Teal’c waited until he was certain that O’Neill was asleep, then walked around the bed and sat in the chair where Maj. Carter had kept her vigil. When he looked up, O’Neill was staring at him.

"What happened to your friends?"

"Brey’ta married another. She had many children and became an honored leader on Chulak. Ry’kor lived to fight many more battles. He died six years ago. He died well, and was happy."

"Did they forgive you?"

"I forgave myself long ago."

"But, did _they_ forgive you?"

Teal’c studied his brother’s face. "There was no need. Only I blamed me for my actions."

O’Neill continued to watch him, then shifted his weight on the bed, grabbing his chest with his right arm and grimacing in pain. Teal’c stood.

"Shall I call, Dr. Fraiser?"

"No." O’Neill bit his lip and eased back onto the bed, his face white with pain. "No. I just–," he grew quiet and Teal’c saw the brown eyes glaze over, this time heavy with unshed tears. "I – I need a minute." He looked up at the Jaffa, the movement dropping tears on his cheek. "Please."

Teal’c nodded and stepped outside the room. Pulling the door shut, he clasped his hands behind his back and stood guard while his friend, his brother, found his way home.

* * * * *

Gen. George Hammond shuffled the papers on his desk, literally and figuratively. He looked out the window into the briefing room, picked up the stack of papers from his in-box, and shuffled through them, straightening the papers for the tenth time in as many minutes. Maj. Carter and Teal’c had arrived over five minutes ago. Dr. Jackson was just arriving, and Dr. Fraiser was right behind him. That left one. The one he most needed and least wanted to attend.

The tap on his door startled him. "Come."

"General," Janet Fraiser entered and stood across from him.

"Have a seat, doctor." The petite CMO settled herself in a chair. "What’s the latest?"

"I’ve cleared him to go home. He can’t drive, of course. And I’ve told him I want someone to stay with him for at least a week."

Hammond frowned. "He asked for Teal’c, I suppose."

"Actually, no. Teal’c is going to request permission to go to home. Sam and Daniel are going to take turns staying with him."

"And he’s okay with that?"

"Apparently, it was his idea. He said Teal’c needed time with his son, and that he needed to get back on the horse."

Hammond was surprised. O’Neill had shut himself off from everyone except Teal’c and the necessary medical staff during his 10-day stay in the infirmary.

"So how is he, really, Doctor?"

"Physically? He’s healing. Sore, weak. In a lot more pain than he’ll admit." Hammond chuckled at that. "He can’t use crutches, so he’s not very mobile, which is probably a good thing."

"Wanna place bets on how long it takes him to crawl up on that roof of his?"

"God help me." Janet rubbed her temple.

"Don’t worry yourself, Dr. Fraiser. I’m assured He watches out for children and stubborn Air Force colonels."

Janet looked at him, not smiling. "Let’s hope so."

Hammond was silent for a moment, and had to resist the urge to reach again for the stack of papers. "His arm?"

"It will heal. It’ll take time. A lot of pain and therapy. It’s not going to be fun, and I don’t envy his therapist, but he should be fine."

"Physically." Hammond felt the invisible fist that had been wrapped around his insides for the last 11 days tighten.

"Yes." Her voice was nearly inaudible.

He didn’t resist the urge this time. He straightened the papers. Dr. Fraiser watched him. "How is she?"

Janet looked away, studied her hands. "She’s been staying at Catherine’s. Sam went to visit her yesterday. She’s moving back home tomorrow, and plans on starting back to work sometime in the next few weeks."

"So she’s going to be all right?" He wanted her reassurance, but Janet only looked at him, and didn’t reply. Hammond moved the papers, lining them up with the edge of his desk, as a movement outside the window caught his eye. Jack O’Neill had arrived.

Janet followed his gaze, and together they watched as the Colonel made his way to the table. His progress was slow; his use of the cane awkward. He limped across the room, his body stiff and tense. The left arm with its halo of metal was carried protectively across his abdomen, whether to protect the arm or the ribs, it was difficult to say. Probably both. Even from here and despite the fading bruises, Hammond could see the lines of pain in the set of his jaw.

"Damned stubborn fool."

Hammond glanced at Fraiser, who was studying her patient. "Doctor?"

She looked over at him. "I told him someone would wheel him down." She looked back out the window where Daniel had pulled out a chair for the Colonel. "And he didn’t take his pain meds." Jack grimaced as he slowly lowered himself onto the chair. "Obviously."

They watched in silence as the team sat waiting. Carter and Daniel were animated, more than usual, more than they had been just moments ago, before his arrival. In contrast, Teal’c was a calm presence, quietly observing, nodding, speaking occasionally. Jack withdrew. He smiled, he spoke, but he looked ready for flight despite his immobility.

"She won’t take his calls, you know."

He did know. He’d heard it through the SGC grapevine. And, as much as he hated it for the both of them, he thought he understood. A little. He knew for a fact love wasn’t the strongest emotion. It shared the spotlight with things like regret and hurt and guilt. When he didn’t reply, Janet looked at him.

"I think, in a way, he’s glad."

Hammond looked at her, curious. "What makes you say that?"

Janet shrugged, but was quiet. Hammond was getting to his feet when she said it. "He has nightmares." He didn’t know what to say. He’d been having quite a few himself recently. "He thinks it was his fault."

"Yes. He does."

Janet looked at him, studying his face. "What do you think?"

He stared back at her, noticing for the first time the tired eyes, the tense set of her shoulders. It was hard to believe he’d overlooked the signs. Because he could easily identify the symptoms of guilt – he’d seen them looking back at him from his own mirror just this morning; could look out now and read the signs in any of the people seated in the next room. He smiled at her, suddenly feeling tired and a little overwhelmed.

"I think we could all do with some absolution, Doctor." Janet looked away, nodding. "Let’s get this over with, shall we?" He picked up a file folder and ushered her out.

He kept the briefing short. It was just a formality anyway. He’d called it more for closure than anything, not that it would help. But, he let Dr. Jackson and Maj. Carter give their updates on P4T-797. After the rescue, Reynolds had returned with back-up. With Dorant dead, and with the help of Uhran and his brethren, it hadn’t taken long to overwhelm the remaining aliens, along with their Queen. The true inhabitants of Maltesh, while a mere fraction of their original numbers, were soon back in possession of their city. They were receiving assistance from their former oppressors and from Earth in order to get their lives back in order.

The mines had indeed been the source of the naquadria, but according to everything they’d been able to determine, the veins had been depleted even before the Malteshians’ recorded history. Apparently, Teal’c’s theory had been right, and the Malteshians had been brought to the planet long after the city itself had been built.

"So, over 400 natives have been given back their homes?"

"Yes, sir. They’ll have to choose a new leader." Carter looked down at her hands. "There was a hallway in the palace that honored the ruling family. A row of portraits. The last of that family were wiped out, killed by Dorant. Even the children."

For the first time since the de-briefing began, O’Neill spoke. "A hallway?"

Carter nodded, frowning. "Yes, sir. If we’d just gone there earlier, we’d have noticed that all the pictures were of humans."

"Well," Hammond paused, thinking about that little word – if. Normally, this was where he would have said something like ‘well done’ or ‘400 saved; great job, people.’ Under the circumstances, those words seemed trite, insulting. "Thank you." He looked at them, each of them, and thought about the price they’d each paid, were paying still. "Thank you. Dismissed."

They rose and O’Neill reached for his cane. "Colonel. A word, please."

Hammond waited until they were alone. "I understand Dr. Fraiser is letting you go home."

"Yes, sir."

"I’ll expect you to follow her orders."

The Colonel nodded, and Hammond realized the man had yet to look at him. Did he blame him? Oh, God.

"Jack–"

"I’m sorry, sir."

"What?" The voice had been so soft, so unlike the man he’d known all these years, that Hammond wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Part of him couldn’t believe Jack was apologizing to him; another part expected nothing less. "For what? What are you sorry for?"

"I was supposed to get her back unharmed. I promised you. I–," Jack grimaced as if he were in pain. Perhaps he was. His next words were nearly inaudible. "I promised her."

"You did everything you could, son."

Jack smiled at him; he actually smiled. "But it wasn’t enough, was it?"

"I–," Hammond felt sick, old. "If you want to lay blame, Jack, you’re in the right place." He rubbed his hands over his face. "I was the one who called the shots on this one. You tried everything you could think of to get her out of this assignment. Even Mrs. Colonel Ferretti O’Neill. Remember?" But Jack didn’t respond, and Hammond suddenly knew that blaming his CO had already crossed the Colonel’s mind. "I had no right. I had no right to ask her to do this, and I had no right to put you in the middle. It wasn’t fair, and I’m sorry, Jack."

They sat without speaking. Hammond studied the folder in front of him, thinking about the fact that Jack hadn’t argued with him. He hadn’t rejected the apology, but he hadn’t accepted it either.

He cleared his throat. "Tessa and Kayla were over last night. Kayla wanted to know if you could come to her recital on Friday." Jack didn’t answer, just stared at the table. "I told them you had been – hurt. That you wouldn’t be able to make it. They, well," Hammond opened the file folder and slowly retrieved something from it, "they made you this."

It was a piece of paper folded in half. The front was covered with a brightly colored drawing. Forcing a smile, he slid it across the table towards O’Neill. "I’m not sure, but I think it’s a dog flying an airplane." Jack looked at the paper but didn’t touch it. Hammond stood up. He started to rest a hand on the stooped shoulder of his best officer, something he would have done without thinking just days ago. But now, he thought better of it and let his hand drop to his side. "I hope it helps, Jack."

He retreated to his office and closed the door. He sat down behind the desk, his eyes on the man in the next room. Jack sat impossibly still for a long time, then finally, wearily, he pulled the homemade card closer. He studied the front for a moment, a brief, tight smile touching his face. Then he opened it. His smile disappeared and he lowered his head, resting it on his good arm.

Hammond looked away from the sad figure. Had it been a mistake? When the girls had given him the card and asked him to deliver it, he’d smiled at the simple message they’d composed. ‘Kernel Jack, please get better. We miss you.’ Then they’d signed it.

All day, Hammond had thought about that message. So simple; so direct. He envied his granddaughters; he wished he could find simple words that would make things better between himself and O’Neill. But what could he say that could assuage the guilt and the regrets that haunted them both. Was there anything? Anything at all that might help? Finally, he realized the girls had said all that could be said. So under their names, he’d signed his own. Was it enough? Enough for himself? Enough for Jack?

He looked at O’Neill, who had lifted his head and was folding the card, stuffing it into his pocket. Using his cane, he forced himself slowly, painfully, to his feet, then looked over at the office. Staring back at Hammond, Jack nodded once, then turned and limped out of the room.

Maybe not enough. But maybe it was a start.

* * * * *

The small restaurant was crowded. Jack hadn’t wanted to come, but Carter and Daniel had convinced him that his absence would hurt Catherine’s feelings. And probably Ernest’s, as well. So, here he was. Making the obligatory appearance before he could sneak away. It was the yearly anniversary of their rescue of Ernest Littlefield, and Catherine always insisted on a party, even if she did have to pretend it was to celebrate Ernest’s birthday, which in a warped kind of way it was. The first year, the group had been small, just Ernest, Catherine and a few of her friends, Hammond, Fraiser, and the members of SG-1. Each year, the guest list expanded slightly until they had gone from a formal dinner in Catherine’s dining room to booking this small Italian restaurant, Ernest’s favorite.

Jack had missed last year’s blow-out, he’d been stuck in the infirmary getting over some alien version of the flu. But he’d attended the previous years, and had always looked forward to it. Until now. This year, _she_ would be here. She’d been here last year, too, he’d discovered. But he hadn’t been. Too bad he couldn’t have contracted something this year. He should have thought of that sooner. He could have kissed an alien on the mouth or eaten off of someone else’s fork, and spent a week in Janet’s clutches. It would have been preferable to this.

Standing inside the small foyer, Jack looked across the small sea of crowded tables. Maybe he could leave before anyone noticed. Reaching into his pocket with his good hand, he dug around for his keys. Yep, right where he’d left them. He slipped a finger into the key ring.

"Colonel!"

"Hey," Jack flinched and pulled his hand out of his pocket, _sans_ keys, "Carter."

"We’re sitting over here. Come on, we saved you a seat."

Jack followed her to a table near the center of the restaurant, and sat down in an empty chair next to Janet.

"Hello, Colonel." Janet raised her glass to him. "Glad you could make it."

Jack nodded and glanced around the room, trying not to wince as he folded his left arm across his ribs.

"By the way, thanks for going with Cassie to the science fair the other night."

"Sure. Any time." The restaurant looked familiar, and he realized he’d been here once before.

"Jack!" Daniel came back to the table, carrying a plate of food, and sat down next to Carter, who immediately started eating from his plate. "Good to see you out and about."

Janet sipped her drink. She smelled slightly of gin. "Well, thank you, Colonel. Seems emergencies always pop up when we have something planned. By the way, Cassie got a kick out of seeing her teacher’s face when you corrected him on – what was it? The theory of – something."

"Relativity," he mumbled, studying the pictures hanging on the far wall.

"You did that?" Daniel pushed Carter’s fork away from a small pile of ravioli, and spun the plate around.

Jack nodded absently. One painting in particular looked familiar. "He just had his facts a little confused between the special and general theories."

"Colonel," Carter held up a forkful of lasagne, "there’s a buffet and an open bar." She nodded towards the back of the restaurant and Jack automatically looked in that direction, turning away quickly when he spotted Ernest and Catherine sitting at a table near the food talking with Hammond and someone he didn’t recognize.

He shook his head. "Not hungry, thanks."

"Anyway," Janet touched his right arm and he tensed, "I just wanted to say that Cassie and I both appreciate the way you help out."

Yeah, he _had_ been here. They’d been joking about that painting of a matador. She’d thought it looked like Sylvester Stallone, and he’d said that it resembled Teal’c, except with hair. Jack started to laugh, then stopped when he realized she wasn’t here to share the joke. Except, maybe, just maybe, she was here. He wiped sweat from his forehead.

"You’re always there when she needs you."

Stunned, Jack looked at Janet, who frowned slightly.

"Cassie. You’re always there for her."

"Oh." He was sweating again. "Yeah. Sure. I–I think I will get a drink."

He stumbled away from the table, bumping his arm against it in his hurry to leave. Grimacing, protecting the sore limb with his other arm, he made his way across the room to the bar. The bartender didn’t look old enough to drive, let alone mix drinks.

"Beer. Whatever you’ve got."

"Jack O’Neill."

Beer in his good hand, he turned at the familiar voice. "Catherine."

"It’s so good to see you." She was friendly, as always, but he thought he detected something new in her eyes. She looked him up and down, then rested a hand on the arm with the ugly fixation device. She looked back up at him, unaware of the pain sparked by her touch on his injured limb. "Grace told me about your arm. It was a bad break."

He blinked and cleared his throat, wanting to push her hand away, and surprised to find that he didn’t have the courage or the cold-heartedness to actually do it. "Yeah."

She smiled, and again that strange look settled in her eyes. "Does it still hurt?"

For reasons he couldn’t explain, Jack didn’t think she was talking about his arm. God, what was she trying to do? "Not much," he lied. Because it did, and they both knew it.

"Well, Ernest is around here somewhere," she glanced behind her, "most likely talking someone’s leg off." She turned back to Jack, and smiled. "He seems to be making up for lost time. You should say hello before you leave."

"I will."

Finally, she removed her hand. "I’m glad you came, Jack. I–,"

He squeezed the beer bottle as hard as he could. If she said she was sorry, he was leaving.

"I hope I see you again. Soon. Don’t wait another year." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, then patted it softly. "Okay?"

"Yes, ma’am." He watched her walk away, condensation from the cold bottle tickling his palm. He turned around, setting the bottle down on the bar and grabbing a napkin to wipe his hand.

That’s when he smelled it. He couldn’t believe he could smell it here, in this place reeking of smoke and garlic and pasta sauce and spaghetti and – spaghetti. His hand trembled and he squeezed it into a fist. He couldn’t believe that he smelled her before he saw her. The scent of lilacs. Which made him think of blue satin.

Shaking, Jack turned around. She stood just a few feet away, watching him. He had thought that if he saw her again, his heart would just stop. But it didn’t. It kept right on ticking, like a damned Timex. Reliable as ever. Reliable; like he was something you could count on.

"Jack."

He studied her. Five weeks. A lifetime. And she didn’t look any different. He’d thought that she would, but she didn’t. A little thinner maybe, a little tightness around the eyes that he didn’t remember being there, but other than that, she looked the same.

"Hey."

She nodded towards his arm. "How’s–,"

"Oh," he shrugged and lifted it up, despite the flash of pain the movement caused, "it’s fine. It’s – fine."

She smiled, and that’s when he saw it: the difference in her. She had had this wonderful, warm, gorgeous smile that made you just want to sit in front of it. That smile was gone; it had been replaced by something brittle, and the whole effect made Grace appear fragile. Finally, Jack’s heart stumbled, staggered briefly.

"So," he sighed, "you–you want to dance?" He’d surprised himself, as well as her. She frowned and bit her lip, and he remembered the last time he’d seen her do that. He opened his mouth to tell her to forget it when she nodded.

"Yeah. Okay."

Stunned, he led her over to the dance floor. He rested his hands on her waist, and she laid hers on his arms. He could feel the warmth of her through the cloth beneath his fingers, and on his biceps where her hands touched the sleeves of his shirt. They moved slowly, in time to the music, the metal rods on his left arm not the only thing forcing a strange distance between them. As she stared somewhere at his chest, Jack looked over her shoulder at the other dancers who spun around them in a mercilessly happy orbit.

"I’m sorry about the phone call. I couldn’t–"

"Oh, yeah. No problem. I understand." He’d tried to call weeks ago. Had spent days working up the nerve to talk to her, and she’d refused to speak to him. Had relayed her apologies through Ernest, who’d had the misfortune to answer the telephone. Jack hadn’t called back. He hadn’t had the nerve for it. He didn’t have the nerve for a lot of things these days.

"Do you?" She was watching him. "Understand?"

Did he? Yes. No.

"I–," but he didn’t know what to say. There were too many broken things between them. He had said he’d take care of her. Had promised her he’d get her home. A promise should be kept. If you gave your word, you should keep it. At all costs. And if you swore you wouldn’t give in, if you said you would trust me, let me handle it, you should have kept your word, Grace. You should have–

Jack looked away, ashamed that he could feel anger towards her.

"I found the poem, Jack."

"The poem?" At first, he couldn’t imagine what she was talking about. Then he remembered reciting it to her in the garden the night they’d been taken, and he cringed. He’d lied to her about it. He’d told her he hadn’t memorized it all, but he had. He just hadn’t liked the ending; it hadn’t been a happy one. And trying to be romantic, he’d thought he could change how it ended just by leaving it out. By telling her only what he wanted her to hear. But it hadn’t worked.

"Out of the depths."

"What?"

" _De Profundis_." 1

"Oh." That one. He relaxed slightly.

"Do you remember it?"

Jack smiled, it seemed so long ago that they’d sat on his rooftop and he’d recited the words to her. "Oh why is heaven built so far, oh why is earth set so remote? I cannot reach the nearest star that hangs afloat." Jack glanced over and saw Janet, Sam, and Daniel watching them, and he looked away.

"How does it end?"

"I don’t know." That was the truth. This time.

Quietly, methodically, she told him. "For I am bound with fleshly bands, joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope; I strain my heart, I stretch my hands, and catch at hope."

They kept dancing, their rhythm never changing. A moment later, he heard a subtle shift in the timbre of her voice, the first emotion either of them had shown.

"It wasn’t your fault, Jack. It wasn’t anybody’s fault."

‘Not even yours,’ he wanted to add. But once again, his courage failed him. Instead, he let his cheek brush softly against her hair. "I said that to you once. A lifetime ago."

She froze at his words. Stopped dancing. Jack’s grip on her waist tightened. Barely able to look at each other, they stood there in a sea of swirling, laughing faces.

"I’d better go." He had to, before she came right out and said that she forgave him. Or that she didn’t. He wasn’t sure which would be worse.

"Yes." She squeezed his arms briefly before letting go.

Jack pressed his lips against her forehead, avoiding her eyes and still marveling at how she could look so unchanged after all she’d been through. "I meant what I said, Grace."

"Till the end of days." She nodded against his kiss. "I know."

He released her and stepped away, placing one foot in front of the other and brushing past her, catching her scent. Then he stopped and turned back.

"How’re the dogs?"

She turned towards him. "Rascal is Rascal. And Randy – well, Randy has a crush on Jimmy from next door."

Jack felt his heart sink a little at that. "Poor kid."

"Jimmy’s a Beagle."

"Oh. Guess she’s over me then."

"I don’t know. It may be just a passing thing." She bit her lip again, and he noticed her hands clutching desperately at her skirt. It reminded him of the poem she’d just recited. "Maybe if she sees you sometime when she’s out walking, in the park maybe, or up in the mountains, she’ll remember you, and be in love with you all over again. Just – give her some time, Jack."

"Yeah?" Stretch with my hands, catch at hope? "I can do that. But, tell her I miss her. Okay?"

Suddenly, Grace smiled at him, a hint of the old smile shining through the new. Jack smiled back, then turned and walked away.

[The End]

________________

1

_De Profundis_ , Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)  


2

_Romance_ , Claude McKay (1889-1948)

**The End**

  


* * *

  


>   
>  Author’s Note: Thanks to Gallagater and Green-Eyed Monster for all their   
>  help. Judy, the dream and the t-shirt are yours; GEM gets that wide, contented   
> smile and the smirking dog; all the mistakes are mine. Despite this story’s dark   
> subject matter, I hope you enjoy it. Feedback is welcomed.

* * *

>   
>  © November 2003 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp.  
> The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters  
> who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names,   
> titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.   
> 

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